Wrath of the Light
by Lord22
Summary: The tides of darkness have come again. Even as the Alliance recovers from its costly victory over the orcs, and moves to secure its territories, new threats appears. A terrible plague strikes the land, the dead walk in service to a dark master. And a terrible connection exists between the two that could spell the end of Lordaeron... The beginning of the Mercyverse.
1. Chasing Visions and Departures

**Prologue: Chasing Visions and Departures**

 _'_ _The Sands of Time have run out, Son of Durotan.'_ said a voice.

In a dream, Thrall saw a barren hillside stood, with only scrub grass upon it. Great stones were piled here and there, and the sky was orange and yellow. The air was filled with suspense for something, something that had yet to occur.

 _'_ _The cries of war echo on the winds.'_

The beating of drums echoed throughout the lands as a warrior atop a beast Thrall had never seen before beat a pair of drums to make a tune that sent the warriors around him into a frenzy. The dirt shook beneath the vibrations of the army before him, as the grass was swept in a fel wind. Far away, a raven picked at the dirt, seeking food despite the coming danger.

The crow looked up, and its eye stared into your mind, even as a catapult was shoved over the hill and descended towards him. The crow fled in terror, as the vision changed to the opposing side of the hill. A human warrior, clad in bright mail, with a flowing blue cloak, his face hidden behind a helmet stepped up upon a rock and motioned with a shining sword, calling his forces to battle.

 _'_ _Heroes arise to challenge fate, and lead their brethren into battle!'_

A vast force of humans in shining mail rushed over the side of the hill, swords gleaming for battle. The orcs on the other side roared war cries as the two sides descended on one another. Even as they were about to meet, the skies churned and fire began to rain from the skies, and amidst the ranks of the orcs, Thrall halted and looked up.

Fire descended and consumed him.

 _'As mortal armies rush blindly towards their doom, the burning shadow comes to consume us all.'_ Suddenly Thrall was standing before a human, clad in a brown cloak, who turned to point at him. _'You must rally the Horde, and lead your people to their destiny!'_

The viewed changed, and it was as if Thrall had become a bird and was slowly flying away from his own home.

 _'Seek me out…'_

* * *

Thrall awake in cold sweat from a dream which had seemed as real as day. He stood up and swiftly made his way out of his hut to gaze down upon the village below. It was a place of thatched roofs and wooden walls. Several warriors paced restlessly below, awoken by fate or luck at the same time as Thrall. The Warchief looked out over the sleeping village, then turned his attention to the great trees on every side of them. The hooting of night owls could be heard heart and there as his people slumbered. This village had been made out of the way of most human encampments, and so was a safe place to conduct operations from.

'What kind of nightmare was that?' he asked of no one in particular.

When no answer was forthcoming, Thrall almost dismissed the dream as a meaningless vision, but at that moment a bird flew overhead, yet it spoke with a man's voice. 'It was not a nightmare, young Warchief, but a vision. Follow me, and I will reveal what your future holds.'

Thrall watched in go in bemusement. This seemed somehow important. 'I don't know what this is all about.' he said after a moment. 'But I'll play along.'

Returning to his hut he donned his armor, picked up his hammer and readying his favorite wolf mount, Snowsong for war. The wolf seemed restless and nuzzled his hand with a whimper. 'Easy girl, we're going out soon. I sense something out there that I can't just ignore.'

Mounting the pure white wolf, Riding Snowsong down, he rode towards the orcs settlement in the valley below. As he entered its midst, three warriors approached him, looking restless. 'Lok'tar, my warriors!' Thrall greeted them.

'We are yours to command Warchief.' they replied.

'How did you know I was in need of your steel?' asked Thrall.

'We... felt as though you needed us.' They said unsteadily. 'Tonight is a strange night.'

'So it is,' said Thrall 'come let's be on our way.'

They made their way out of the village, to the edge of the woods, slowly treading along a forest past, heavy with roots. As they pressed on, he sensed a life force approaching him and reined in Snowing to a halt. 'Prepare yourselves, I sense a gnoll ahead.' Thrall warned his warriors. It would be a simple matter to defeat the foul creature, but Thrall suddenly felt as if this would hardly be a fair fight. 'We'll rush past it, and ignore it.'

'Warchief, are you sure that is wise?' asked a warrior, taken aback.

'It will give up the chase soon enough.' replied Thrall 'And it stands no chance of taking the village.' Not since the Peons had learned to cast spears from their burrows, anyway. That was a unique quality which had given them the edge over their violent rivals, the Blackrock Clan. The Blackrock's kept their peons in line through brutality and fear, and so could not rely on them to aid them in battle.

The company rode one and sure enough, they saw a dog-headed beast with brown fur, carrying a flail with no spikes. It did not attack them, for fear of their numbers, at fist. As one, Thrall and his warriors rushed forward and past it. The gnoll mastered its terror and rushed to meet them. It brought its flail around, but a warrior parried it, and then they were beyond its reach.

'It was only a scout,' said Thrall to his comrades as they rushed onwards. 'but the Gnoll's village lies just ahead. We shall pass through it without a fight.'

They crossed into a place filled with gnolls. The creatures grasped their weapons and rushed to attack them from all sides. Crossbow bolts landed near them, yet did not score a hit. The warriors and Thrall parried several blows as they shouldered forward through the clearing. Thrall knocked aside a mace, as a warrior ducked under a crossbow bolt. Yet never once did they strike back as they charged through the village and down the hill, pursued.

The warriors had become used to such orders, made by him on occasion when it was possible to avoid combat. In truth, Thrall deplored needless violence and hated causing death of all kinds, although he would never admit it to the warriors. Such a revelation would be… unpopular.

Their flight through the woods left them pursued by the gnolls them, leaping over roots and under low hanging branches until, at last, they reached the river where their enemies gave up the pursuit. The orcs waded into the crystal clear river to their waists and drank to refreshed themselves within it gratefully.

'These gnolls are nothing compared to the might of the Horde.' said an orc.

'Come,' said Thrall 'let us move on.'

They proceeded in high spirits as the morning light rose overhead. A fair breeze was flowing through the river, and spirits were high. However they darkened when ahead they saw a pack of murlocs, small fish like humanoids with shark teeth, and Thrall reflected that they would make excellent targets for a bout of chain lightning. Yet he had no desire to kill without need and instead halted his warriors as they raised their axes.

'Warchief, we've discovered a group of murloc raiders in the nearby river.' said a warrior, hoping for orders.

'We will not slay them,' said Thrall, determined not to cause any death in this quest. 'there is a large patch of land which is undefended. We'll run through that and head north until we find a way out of the river.'

'As you say, Warchief.' said the warrior, sounding disappointed.

They rushed onwards, and as they passed the murlocs looked up from their fishing and charged them with swords. Yet the orcs outdistanced them, and made their way north up the shallow part of the river until they found a way to the opposite shore. It was a near thing, for another tribe of murlocs assaulted them and sought to bar their path. One of the warriors was cut off from the group and nearly surrounded. Yet with a mighty leap, he cleared the area over the murlocs and landed with his friends.

The murlocs, evidently, did not think their prey worth chasing onto solid ground, and they saw and heard no more from the creatures on their journey. As they traveled they spoke of adventures yet to come, and jested merrily, as they made their way deeper into the wilds. Yet soon it began to get darker, and the warriors fell silent. They ate a meal without speaking much and continued on their way.

A wolf howl heralded the return of night as the land was shrouded in darkness. 'Be wary, my warriors.' said Thrall quickly. 'Don't let nightfall dull your senses.'It was perhaps redundant, for no one could see as well at night as they could at day. As they made their way through ancients paths, they saw

It was perhaps redundant, for no one could see as well at night as they could at day. As they made their way through ancients paths, they saw stags racing through the trees. They heard owls hooting, and Thrall sensed the spirits were watching them in this place, judging their actions. On they went, unopposed until they halted before a campfire with a pig roasting on it, situated in a little grove by a lake. The smell from the pig was delicious and far better than any of the rations they had brought with them. Yet by the fire lay a great tan skinned creature, with two heads, clutching in its hand a large club as big as a man. It was sound asleep.

'An ogre,' realized Thrall 'we'd have a fierce battle on our hands if the beast weren't sleeping.'

'Let's behead the creature, warchief.' said a warrior hopefully. 'It can't fight back.'

'That's exactly why we'll leave it alone.' replied Thrall 'There is no honor in such a victory. We move onward.'

'Yes warchief,' said the warrior 'can we at least take some of the pig.'

'No.' replied Thrall simply. 'It's not ours.'

They made their way onwards and took a little side path which they saw a hulking creature made of rock. Thrall knew at once what it was. 'A golem!' He said 'Watch yourselves, my brethren. Those creatures do not sleep at night.'

'Can we kill it, Warchief?' asked a warrior hopefully.

'No.' said Thrall in irritation.

The warriors were disappointed, but not surprised. Warchief Thrall had gotten a reputation as something of a killjoy.

And they moved onwards, further north. Yet Thrall enjoyed exploring new places, and so once again turned aside from his path to head east up a hill. There they came to a camp filled with green skinned creatures. Yet they were not orcs, for their noses were pointed, and their limbs longer and thinner.

'Forest Trolls,' said Thrall in contempt, 'I still can't believe they were ever a part of the horde.'

While Thrall and the Orcs had, for the most part changed their ways, giving up raiding and pillaging, the forest trolls had not. They remained a constant thorn in the sides of everyone and everything on the continent. They killed woman and children without mercy when they could, and held contempt for all save themselves. Thrall considered launching an assault upon their town, but then reconsidered. This was a village, not an encampment, which meant there would be woman and children here as well and he had no desire to kill innocents. He had no desire to kill anyone. Besides, they hadn't done anything wrong that he knew of.

The new Horde did not strike without need.

So, much to the irritation of his companions, they made their way back to the path, and north again until at last, they came to a cliff overlooking the sea, where the raven from before was circling above. Thrall turned to his warriors. 'Wait here for me, I will not be long.'

With that, Thrall made his way forward to meet the raven which lowered itself down to the ground and transformed into a human, cloaked and hooded. He stood near the very edge of the cliff, and Thrall approached him. He was unlike other humans, yet Thrall was not sure why.

'Greetings young Warchief, I knew you'd find your way.' the human said.

'It was you I saw in the vision,' realized Thrall 'Who are you? How do you know me?

'I know many things, young Warchief, about you and your people.' replied the human evasively. 'My identity at this time is unimportant. What is important is that you rally your people and leave these lands immediately.'

'Leave?' asked Thrall 'Whats this all about human.' Was this some manner of trick?

'Human?' said the Prophet with a laugh. 'I left my humanity behind long ago. I am something… different now. Know that I have seen the future, and beheld the great burning shadow coming to consume this land. You sense it as well, don't you?'

He did. In these past months, he had felt a change coming over this land, a darkness creeping into everything, though it could not be seen on the surface. 'The Demons… are returning.' realized Thrall.

'Yes,' affirmed the Prophet 'and only by leading your people across the sea, to the distant lands of Kalimdor, can you hope to stand against them.'

'But how can we-' began Thrall.

'I will answer all of your questions in time, young Warchief.' cut in the Prophet 'For now, rally your warriors and prepare to leave these lands. We will speak again.'

With that, he transformed once more into a bird and flew away into the distance. The aura he gave out was in agreement with the will of the spirits. Indeed, the spirits had indicated to Thrall that the orcs time in Lordaeron would be a short one. They told him in his heart that this prophet was correct, and that he must follow his instructions.

'None of this makes sense,' said Thrall in frustration. 'but the spirits tell me, that I should trust him.'

* * *

The raid had all been going so well too, reflected Grom.

As he sat within the cage, waiting for the beating sun to kill him, he tried to think of how he'd gotten here. He'd been going on a raid, and had just finished off the defenders and had begun to loot the town when the forces of Kul'tiras had arrived. Many of his warriors had died in the ensuing struggle, and he'd found himself fighting Daelin Proudmoore himself. The Grand Admiral of the Alliance proved a worthy foe, and their duel might have lasted days, had not the humans emerged victorious in the battle itself. Daelin Proudmoore, evidently, had no problem at all with ganging up on someone.

Grom had been swiftly captured, and the Alliance Admiral had left specific instructions for Grom to be left to waste away in a cage until dead. Grom vowed the Grand Admiral would regret that decision and assuming he was rescued he knew just the way. There were a number of practically unguarded Kul'tiran vessels housed in dry dock within sight of his cage. They would make a worthy trophy.

Now he just had to get out of here. He kicked at the bars, but they did not yield. The sunlight would have ordinarily been pleasant, but in this situation was only serving to make the metal hot. Fortunately, the wind was high and helped to keep the metal cool. Even so, he would need a rescue, or else he might not survive long enough to take a trophy from this engagement.

* * *

Three days later, near the Lordaeron coast, Thrall was having second thoughts as he observed the village around him. A waterfall was flowing pristine as crystal before his eyes, leading to a bright pool of clear water. 'It's been three days and this… prophet has yet to show himself.' He said to himself. 'I hope I'm not making a huge mistake by trusting him.'

At this time a warrior approached him, a messenger. 'Warchief, the Clans are assembling as you ordered.' he said 'But it will take them some time to reach us.'

'Then we must prepare this camp immediately.' decided Thrall 'I want my warriors to have food and proper lodgings when they arrive.' He made his way towards the Peons, meaning to instruct them before he paused. He turned back to the warrior. 'Warrior has there been any word from Grom Hellscream? He and the Warsong clan were supposed to have been here by now.'

'No Warchief,' admitted the warrior 'we haven't heard from Hellscream in some time.'

'Damn it Grom, where are you?' asked Thrall of his absent friend.

The work began slowly, for the village was a small one. The sound of sawing wood and the erecting of great beams filled the day. Fortunately, a large group of Peons arrived ahead of the rest of the horde, and Thrall put them to work. 'I need a war mill established by the tree line. We'll put our lumber there until we need it.'

The efforts took over a week, as little by little construction continued. Before long there were a great many burrows erected to house warriors who soon began to arrive. A barracks stood near them, where mead was drunk and tales told of mighty victories. Not to mention being a place where warriors trained for battle. Another such barracks was erected due south of it over the next few days.

Finally, satisfied with their efforts, Thrall rode his wolf to the peons who were busy hewing at more trees. Looking to the war mill, he saw that they had plenty of lumber, more than they would need. 'Halt the felling of trees immediately!' called Thrall to his Peons, and they stopped at looked at him.

'Are we doing it wrong?' they asked.

'No,' said Thrall 'I'd just rather we not destroy any more of nature than we must.'

They halted their efforts and returned to tending their gardens. Thrall reflected that such efforts would be for naught, as they would be moving across the sea. Did the Prophet realize what he was asking? He wanted the Horde to leave everything they had worked to build behind and start anew in a land they did not know or own. It was... drastic to say the least. Yet the spirits did not lie.

More and more warriors were arriving, and Thrall went to meet them. 'Well met, warriors.' he said 'Did Hellscream send you?'

'No Warchief,' they answered. 'he is farther afield. We saw him halting to raid an Alliance base camp.'

Thrall frowned in irritation. Grom might well bring the wrath of the Alliance down on them with his recklessness. The two of them disagreed on how their policy towards humans should be conducted. Thrall was fully aware that by all accounts his own people had been the aggressors, and that the humans could have easily had them all butchered without mercy. They had chosen not to. Consequently, Thrall was reluctant to wage war on them. Meanwhile, Grom delighted in battle and sought out humans to fight.

Even so, the humans would have to cross the river to reach them. To this end, Thrall had erected many towers along the coast, and several at the most likely place the humans would enter. It might be wise to reinforce that position, just in case. 'I have a task for you.' he said 'Follow me.'

He led them down the hill, past the various towers. They stood, skeletons of wood with a platform and roof on top. At the heights of each were a guard of several peons wielding short bows. Bows were an elven invention which the smaller breed of orcs had adapted to their own defense. Now Thrall hoped they would prove to their advantage in defending their homes.

Along the way, Thrall broke off from the main column to scout out the hills above. He did not like the idea of having unknown territory at his back. There he beheld a group of gnolls, guarding their territory. 'Warchief,' said a warrior 'let us fall upon them and wipe them out. If they attack us from behind, it could be disastrous.'

'I will not slaughter an entire village just in case, warrior.' replied Thrall 'I'll have some Peons come here and erect more defense towers in case they assault us. Until then, the gnolls are not to be touched. Am I clear?'

The warriors shifted nervously, for they desired battle greatly. 'As you say warchief.' They said at last.

More lumber had to be harvested in order to erect another tower, and it took time. Another day passed, during which more warriors arrived with their families. The lodging which had been erected were put to good use. Finally, however, Thrall had finished overseeing such works and led his warriors the rest of the way down to the banks of the river.

It proved fortunate that he had left just then, for as soon as they arrived they beheld the Alliance at work. A force of Alliance Soldiers stood on the other end of the shore, and peasants were at work erecting a bridge across. The peons on the towers guarding the area were ready, but they would need help.

'You orcs are in violation of the Alliance internment act!' proclaimed their Captain, bearing the emblem of Kul'tiras. 'We've already captured on of your leaders! If you surrender now, we'll spare your lives!'

'Warchief,' said a warrior 'they say they've captured one of our leaders! Maybe they are referring to Grom!'

'I hope not.' said Thrall grimly. 'But if they have captured Hellscream, we cannot sit idle. Come, my warriors! We must drive the humans back!'

The bridge was finished and the Alliance charged across it, blades ready for battle, right into the range of the watch towers. Thrall and his warriors rushed to their aid as arrows poured down upon the humans. The ensuing battle could hardly be considered fair, or honorable. The humans worked best when they had superior numbers, and advanced in an organized formation supported by guns and magic. These were green recruits, who charged recklessly like any other orc might. Yet orcs could tower almost seven feet tall and were built with muscles on top of muscles. The orcs crushed their shields and cleaved them down with ease. Even as his warriors overran the human defenders, Thrall reflected that the towers alone might have staved off this assault with limited damage.

There was no glory in such a massacre, and the Warchief felt anger at the human commander who sent his men to die in such a fashion. When the field was cleared, a warrior approached him. 'The wretched humans have been destroyed!'

'They should have never attempted this stunt.' snapped Thrall. Now there was nothing to do but press their advantage, and free Grom Hellscream. Before he could accomplish that, however, Thrall turned to a number of Peons who had come to watch the fight. One of the towers had been set aflame and was burning. 'You men put out the flames on this tower, and prepare to defend this area against any further incursions.

We're going across the river to free Grom Hellscream.'

They crossed over to the other side of the river and there halted as Thrall waited for his forces to accumulate on that side. Even as he did so, however, his warriors turned and made for the towers where Thrall had seen a number of peasants flee. No arrows came from them, and he realized they were defenseless. 'Stay your axes, warriors!' he called to them. 'Our objective is to free Hellscream, not massacre humans! We move onwards!'

They made their way south gradually, past many houses and farmsteads where villagers cowered in terror. Thrall ignored these, reflecting that the Blackrock Clan would have massacred all without mercy. Whatever the case they met no resistance, no true threats to their advance. After crossing past a number of corn fields, they came to a gate that barred their path. 'Hack it down my warriors! None shall bar our path!'

The gate was well made and of sturdy material. Yet the force of the orcish warriors as they hacked and cleaved at it was something that few could withstand for long. After a prolonged battle, they broke through and entered the town proper.

Once again, no sign of an enemy met them and they continued traveling forward. Several times his warriors looked hopefully at some of the houses, hoping for plunder, but Thrall silenced them with a look. He was very determined that his people should not embrace the old warrior culture of plunder and murder, and they understood that.

He had freed them from bondage, defeated Blackmoore and brought them once more into the worship of nature spirits. They owed him much, and he would brook no violence without need. Some objected, however, all were loyal to his vision. None dared disobey.

As they marched onwards, they saw a camp of Alliance footmen, standing around a campfire. The footmen drew their swords and readied themselves to face Thrall's forces, but they dared not attack so vast a force.

'Let us meet the humans in battle, warchief!' begged a warrior.

'We move on.' replied Thrall 'Our weapons were not made for unworthy victories.'

So it was that the Orcish Horde passed the defenders in that location by without another word. The humans breathed a long sigh of relief, as Thrall made his way onwards with his warriors. The orcish column continued its steady march.

On they traveled, until they had quite left the town behind. Soon they came to a cage, guarded by a single. 'Ignore him!' called Thrall 'Deflect his blows but do not slay him!'

Following their orders, the orcs rushed forward in a great mass, as the Footmen charged forward to meet them with a courage that defied all rational comprehension, and was promptly ignored by the entire force. Finding himself alone, the footmen called a battle cry and charged after the orcs, even as they freed the warrior within from his cage, and moved onwards.

Later on, that footmen would boast of how he drove off the entire horde singlehanded. Nobody would believe him.

The horde moved on and finally came to two hills. Riflemen stood around the campfire of the one, and on the other was an enclosure with two cages. Thrall raised his hammer. 'Ignore the dwarves and humans! Cast down the cages, and free our brothers!'

The onslaught was swift, and without relent. The guns of the riflemen were fired in vain, as the orcs passed them by, and tore open the cage to reveal a shaman. 'For the horde!' proclaimed the Shaman.

'You two,' commanded Thrall to two warriors. 'take the shaman back to camp, and slay no one on your way. Avoid all bloodshed, for this is not the hour.' Thrall had no desire for the few shamans they had to die in battle. By now the other warriors had turned and begun fighting the enemy who approached them. 'Disengage my warriors, our destiny lies elsewhere!'

Once again they followed the Warchief's commands without question and headed north-west, until they found a series of cages guard by a contingent of footmen. Once more the footmen were ignored and the cages cast down. The orcs deflected the footmen's attacks but did not slay them. Finally they turned and charged north, towards a set of gates guarded by a force of knights.

No doubt it was these knights who were responsible for that suicide mission which had been sent against the Horde. 'Now is the time for weapons my warriors!' Thrall called 'Attack! Show these no mercy, for they have set themselves against the Horde!'

The warriors charged with tenfold the bloodlust which they had been suppressing until now. They met the knights in battle, and surrounded them, cutting them down with vicious strokes of their axes as Thrall behind them casts bolts of magic. During this time, some of the footmen they had faced before caught the Horde in a flanking assault, however, they were too few to make a difference and quickly slain.

Only a few grunts had been killed in the fighting, and all that remained now tore down the gates with reckless abandon. As they fell, the orcs observed three fortified guard towers standing ready, with archers firing from them. The grunts hesitated to attack. 'Warchief,' called a warrior 'we've found where their holding Grom, but the area is protected by fortified guard towers.'

'Then destroy them!' called Thrall 'Hellscream must be freed!'

They rushed forward with cheers of victory on their lips as they assaulted the Kul'tiran naval base. Just beyond they could see many ships standing unmanned, as they broke down the doors of the guard towers and entered them to begin fighting with those inside. The combat lasted for quite some time, and a number of orcs fell beneath a barrage of arrows.

The towers defenders must have realized they were doomed, for they began firing upon the shamans. 'Pull back!' called Thrall as several of them fell. 'We cannot afford to lose you!'

Once a warrior had taken a number of arrows to the chest, and yet still moved to assault anyway. Thrall took him by the shoulder. 'Rest now, warrior, and await a healer. Your task, for now is ended.'

Once he was certain victory was assured, Thrall made his way up the hill to where he found the cages holding Grom. In the other two cages were two corpses of orcs, dead from exposure. Thrall broke the cage, and the massive orc warrior stepped out, stretching. 'Grom, are you alright?' Asked Thrall, allowing concern to show in his voice.

'I'm fine, little brother.' said Grom 'Luckily, they only injured my pride.'

'Good,' said Thrall, as the guard towers were torn down behind him. ''cause we're getting out of here now. We're leaving the human lands for good.'

'Finally.' said Grom 'Follow me. I have an idea.' He led Thrall down the hill to the coast, where the large fleet of ships Thrall had seen before still stood, unmanned, ripe for the taking. 'Haha! We can set sail, on the human's own ships.'

'Perfect,' said Thrall with a laugh. 'but we'll need to wait for the rest of the horde-'

At that moment a warrior arrived, with a great host of orcs behind him. The forces of the horde had followed in his wake, and now stood amassed, from the mightiest warrior to the lowliest Peon. Thrall had not realized how many there were under his command. 'The horde is assembled Warchief,' said a warrior. 'we await only your command.'

It took a lot of work to find room for everyone in the fleet, along with the supplies they stored aboard it. A single room could be packed with hundreds of orcs, and space was very tight. Worse still, the orcs had never been natural sailors, and they made their way onwards slowly, unsure of their mastery over the vessels which lumbered through the water, overloaded with almost an entire race.

Yet from the prow, Thrall glanced up and saw the Prophet watching from above. And he heard his voice in his mind. _'Now, go young Thrall. Sail west to the lands of Kalimdor. It is there that your people's salvation shall be assured.'_

Thrall smiled a smile of hope.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

Welcome to my prequel story, Wrath of the Light. Ironically we're not starting with our main hero at all, but with Warchief Thrall and Grom Hellscream. Not much to say, other than the fact that I didn't want to make an entirely different story just to do two missions.

Wrath of the Light is effectively a prequel to Mercy of the Damned, and will deal with the fall of Arthas, and precisely why he acts so differently in Mercy of the Damned. It begins with Thrall doing about as much as he can to earn the fan nickname 'Green Jesus.'

By now anyone who hasn't read Mercy of the Damned has realized that this is going to be a minimum bloodshed run of Warcraft III. Except not really, because a pacifist run of the Alliance Campaign would actually make Arthas a worse person. For the most part, the undead are always chaotic evil, and sparing an undead base means that it can terrorize the surroundings areas after your gone.

It would be more accurate to call this a moral run, where I try to kill as few good guys, or neutral guys as possible. Also I try to avoid destroying civilian targets.

Part of the difference between this and Mercy of the Damned is that in Mercy of the Damned I wasn't changing Arthas' character, so much as examining what might have happened had he taken a different path. However for Thrall to take a minimum bloodless run, he'd have to be a very different character from the semi-blood knight whom he is in the original game.

Oh, and I decided to make it Daelin Proudmoore who captured Hellscream. How exactly Grom got captured has always been something of a noodle incident. Uther makes a good candidate, but Uther gets plenty of moments of awesome. Seeing as Daelin gets brought into Frozen Throne simply to have a bridge dropped on him, I'm inclined to give him a moment of awesome.

First, chapter and none of the main characters have shown up yet. This does not bode well.

 **EDIT:**

Altered some of the text to set the scene a bit better. Made a number of minor alterations as well. Nothing too big.


	2. The Defense of Strahnbrad

**Chapter One: The Defense of Strahnbrad**

A raven flew over the frozen peaks of the highlands, flapping its wings occasionally as it made its way through barren lands, and the frozen north, and finally arrived in the Capital City of Lordaeron. The palace loomed over a wondrous city of many people of all kinds, hopes, and dreams, the jewel of humanity, the largest city in the world. The raven passed over the walls, down low and over a series of ants busily working to feed their queen, completely unaware of what was happening. And what would happen?

* * *

Arthas, tall with long blonde hair, and broad of shoulder, observed the meeting of the Alliance from a secret room which allowed him to peer through to see and heard all within it. His Father was looking very tired indeed as he listened to the Alliance council arguing. He felt the pangs of sympathy and found himself almost looking forward to the day when he would rule. At least then his Father would not have to be burdened with this council.

'We've received reports that the orcs are regrouping.' said a member of the Alliance Council.

'Certainly, the recent attacks against the internment camps are evidence enough.' agreed another.

'Agreed, the Horde is on the move.' Three statements to accomplish one sentence's worth of effect.

'This is absurd,' said yet another, without giving his father time to speak. 'My nation will not stand by and watch as the horde masses on our very doorstep.' Make that four statements.

'The orcs are _not_ our primary concern here,' maintained the Ambassador of the Kirin Tor 'How many times must I repeat myself. King Terenas, you must heed my warning. This plague which has gripped the northlands could have dire ramifications.' The man acted as though King Terenas was a simpleton to be guided by an omnipresent council of wizards, rather than the head of the Alliance.

'Plague?' said another. 'You wizards are just being paranoid!' As if it was _their_ nation at stake.

Murmurings broke out amongst the various heads of state, and as those murmurings continued, a raven flew into the hall. It circled twice around, and landed upon the floor, before beginning to pick at the fine tile stones. Only Father saw it, the others were completely unaware of its presence.

'Let's keep all this in perspective,' said another 'even if this 'plague' does pose a threat to us, what are you proposing that we do?' Asked another ambassador, seeking to cut his Father out of the loop.

'It is simple,' said the Ambassador 'the Kirin Tor is prepared to place the villages in the region under strict quarantine.' Arthas felt a surge of contempt, that this man should seek to dictate policy for an entire nation. King Terenas had kept the borders of Lordaeron secure for years via close personal relationships with the various monarchs in neighboring lands. They had been his peers, his friends. Now though the Alliance had held, his friendships had drifted apart.

Now the rest of the Alliance practically treated Lordaeron almost as a subject realm. Arthas was very nearly ready to make an entrance into this matter, but his Father, apparently, had had enough as well. 'I will not institute quarantine without proof of your claims!' he proclaimed, voice regaining some measure of authority. 'The people of Lordaeron have suffered enough, without becoming Prisoners in their own lands.' The Alliance council fell silent.

At this moment the raven was veiled in green mist, and transformed into a man. He wore a red cloak that flowed around him and held in his hand a gnarled staff. Arthas blinked in surprise. This was new. 'Yet prisoners they are, good king.' said the man.

'What is the meaning of this?' asked King Terenas 'Who are you?'

'Humanity is in peril!' proclaimed the Prophet, looking up to the Alliance. 'The tides of darkness have come again, and the whole world is poised on the brink of war!' Well, this entertaining. Not actually telling them anything they didn't already know, but entertaining.

'Enough of this,' said the Ambassador of the Kirin Tor 'guards, remove this madman!'

The guards had already been moving and set one hand upon his shoulder, yet the Prophet shook them off. 'Hear me, the only hope for your people is to travel west, to the forgotten lands of Kalimdor.'

Arthas was stunned by this prophets ignorance. The reasons such a suggestion would never work were too many to count. 'Travel west? Are you mad?' asked a Councilman. For once he and the Alliance Council agreed on something.

King Terenas arose. 'Hold ambassador,' said Terenas, before addressing the madman. 'I don't know who you are or what you believe. But this is not the time for rambling prophets. Our lands are beset by conflict, but it shall be we who decide how best to protect our people. Not you! Now, begone!' Eloquently put, all things considered, and as his Father turned away, Arthas expected that would be the end of things.

'I failed humanity once before, your majesty.' said the Prophet in a low tone which carried far. 'And I will not do so again. If you cannot take up this cup, then I shall find another who will.' Then, with a radiance which spoke of power, he turned and departed the throne room of his own free will. For a moment, Arthas almost thought that his Father was making a terrible mistake by ignoring him. Then he recalled the practical side to events and checked such thoughts. This Prophet certainly knew how to make an exit, if nothing else.

And a message suddenly played through Arthas' mind. _'The warning has been given. Your fate is now your own.'_ And for a time afterward he was seriously disturbed.

When the Throne room had been cleared of people, Arthas made his way through the halls of Lordaeron Castle to find his Father in the living room where Arthas had first met Varian Wrynn so long ago. He smiled slightly at the memory, though it was distant. His Father had looked so much younger then, now his hair was filled with gray, and he looked very old indeed.

'Travel west?' asked Arthas ruefully. 'Just a simple matter of transporting the entire population of Lordaeron through the maelstrom, an impossible whirlpool which destroys everything that goes into it. And after that, it gets even better, because mass starvation and hunger will soon follow as supplies run short. How would we feed all those people? And that's ignoring the transportation issues. The entire Alliance Navy, if we stole all their ships, would not be sufficient to transport even half of Lordaeron's population.' He paused, before finishing his thought. 'He's asking us to abandon our people to save our own lives.'

King Terenas looked to his son mournfully, taking no amusement from his words to Arthas' disappointment. The Old King removed his heavy crown, holding it as something he did not want, yet dared not abandon. 'One day, my son, it will be your task to sacrifice for your people. Your task to bear the weight of the crown.' He smiled wearily. 'Until then, I'll take care of everything.' Then he straightened up. 'I have a task which requires you as a Paladin, not a Prince.'

'I'm ready to serve, Father.' said Arthas quickly.

'I knew you would be.' said Father, smiling broadening. 'Recent orc uprisings in Lordaeron have forced the Alliance to take drastic action. I'm sending Uther Lightbringer to put down these incursions. And I'd like you to go and meet him. Follow his orders, and assist him in any way you can. With any luck, some of his patience and experience might rub off on you.'

Arthas smiled back. 'One can only hope, Father.'

'Take such men as you deem trustworthy, but do not take a large force.' continued Father. 'Speed is of more importance in this task than numbers. What troops you will use must be drawn from the local populace.'

'Very well,' said Arthas 'I will take Falric, of course.'

'Of course,' agreed Father. 'I expected as much.'

'And Marwynn as well,' Arthas continued. 'he has been itching for some action since the second war ended. This might satiate him.'

'Good choices, I am sure they shall both serve you loyally.' said King Terenas. 'You leave at once. Good luck, my son.'  
Arthas and his companions soon departed Lordaeron City on horseback, riding swiftly through the Alterac Highlands. In the aftermath of the second war, Alterac had effectively become part of Lordaeron, owing to no one being able to find and heir, and the new planned King Prestor disappearing without a trace. Calia had been surprisingly sad about that, for one who had not wanted to marry him.

* * *

They arrived, and stabled their horses in a nearby enclosure, outside the camp of Lord Uther. Arthas petted the creature which had been his mount, remembering his old charger, Invincible with sadness. Then turning, they made their way to meet Uther.

This was not the first time Arthas Menethil had been to Strahnbrad. The last time had been when he was eighteen and on something of an unauthorized tour of Lordaeron's holdings. He, Falric and Marwynn, had been traveling through a scenic village of playing children and farmers working their fields when they had been approached by a lady, begging them to save one of her many children from Gnolls. This had seemed an entirely reasonable request, and the chance for adventure, so Arthas and Falric had made their way with one other man to face the creatures. In the end, they had slain the three of them and rescued the child, Timmy. His mother had been overjoyed, of course.

Then, as they pressed onwards they had heard a cry of distress to the north, within the forests. Rushing to investigate, Arthas and Falric had come across a man asking for help. Even as they approached, however, the man had revealed himself to be a bandit, and his cronies rushed out of the trees. They had outnumbered the three friends greatly, but the Prince and his comrades had been more skilled. Fighting back to back, Arthas, Falric, and Marwynn slew all the bandits after a gruesome contest, and continued on their way.

As they journeyed onward, they had seen a merchant being assaulted by bandits led by the notorious Meneg, a bandit of some repute. They rushed to his aid, but too late, for the bandits escaped. Gerard, the victim they had saved, begged them to retrieve his ledger which the Bandits had stolen, for, without it, he would lose his entire farm. Naturally, never passing up a chance to right wrongs, the three friends had gone together after Meneg.

First, they met his minions within a river, and there they had fought a difficult battle where they were nearly killed. Yet in the end, they had emerged victorious and traveled onward to face Meneg himself. What ensued had been one of the hardest challenges Arthas had faced so far yet, for he had been very spent from using his healing magics, and his friends were nearly killed in the engagement. At last the bandit leader fell dead, his head cut from his shoulders by Falric, and his warriors slain around him. They found the ledger upon his body, free from blood and brought it back to Gerard. That had been the last adventure they had had for some time yet on his path. But not the last one by any means.

Tales of his adventures had spread throughout the land, and Arthas found himself cheered and welcomed wherever he went after that.

He wondered how Garath and his wife were doing? He hoped things had been going well for them.

Arthas returned his attention to the matter at hand. Whatever the case today's task was far direr than any bandit hunt, with far greater stakes than a single farm. Arthas and his friends now went dressed forward into the camp of Uther Lightbringer. Arthas was a tall, blonde haired man with blue-green eyes. He was clad in simple and unadorned armor, and wielded a hammer, though he would have felt more comfortable with a sword. Most legendary heroes wielded swords, but he was a Paladin, and hammers were what Paladins wielded.

Arthas noted on his way a number of horses and winced at the memory of his old war horses death. Then he shook himself free of memories and continued onwards through two watchtowers to meet his mentor and idol.

Uther Lightbringer greeted them kindly. 'Prince Arthas, the men and I are honored by your presence!' he said in a hearty tone. Uther was a bear of a man, with a great graying brown beard, and clad in gold colored armor. In his hands was a great hammer which was the most ornate weapon to ever be wielded by a Paladin. Uther had earned it when he won undying glory in the wars against the orcs, and continued to earn more of such glory to this day.

He was a stern mentor, an idol to aspire to, a rival to surpass, and something of a family friend.

'Can the formalities Uther,' said Arthas as he approached with a roguish smile. 'I'm not King yet. It's good to see you.'

'You too lad,' said Uther 'I'm pleased that King Terenas sent you to help me.'

'Father still hopes your patience and experience might rub off on me.' said Arthas ruefully, stretching an arm as he did so.

'It is a Fathers right to dream, isn't it?' asked Uther.

They both laughed, for they had not seen each other in quite some time. Yet there would be time for reminiscing later. For now there was important business to attend to. 'Look,' said Arthas 'here's where we stand. Our scouts have reported that there is an orc encampment located somewhere over the next ridge.'

'As I suspected.' said Uther, hefting his hammer onto one shoulder.

'It gets worse.' said Arthas 'They are preparing to attack the nearby village of Strahnbrad. As far as we know the village is completely defenseless.'

'Damn,' said Uther lowering the hammer, his bearing becoming grim. 'I need to move against the Orc Camp immediately. Can you handle Strahnbrad's defense on your own?'

'Of course Uther.' said Arthas 'Don't worry about me.'

'Good,' said Uther, before motioning to his soldiers and moving past Arthas. 'meet me at the Orc Camp after you've saved the village. Be careful Arthas.' And then he, and most of the soldiers were marching away. Arthas looked to his own forces and sighed.

'Let's move men.' he said to those who had joined him.

It was impossible to imagine the world ending on such a bright summer day. The sun was shining high in a cloudless sky, illuminated green fields and trees swaying in the gusts. Scenic farmlands stretched on either side of them, and birds chirped from the woodlands. Eventually, they came upon the village on the outskirts of Strahnbrad, where before Arthas had gone on so many quests for the populace. As they passed through the collection of straw-roofed houses, Arthas saw children playing in the fields. Villagers looked up from their tasks to stare in wonder at his passing, for they rarely saw troops in such force.

'Greetings milord,' said a woman bashfully.

'Welcome to our village.' said a man.

'We'll fight for Lordaeron!' proclaimed another. 'Get your swords!' And he rushed into his home with another. Soon they emerged, clad in flawlessly polished armor and saluted. 'Thornby and Garth reporting for duty, Prince Arthas.'

The Prince was surprised at his subjects willingness to fight but recovered quickly. 'Fall in.' said Arthas 'We have a village to save.'

As they walked Arthas listened to snippets of conversation between Thornby and Falric. The two men got on quite well, all things considered. There was a sort of inherent familiarity between soldiers who had lived through the same war, which Arthas reflected he would never be a part of. Commander he might be, but Falric had seen more wars than Arthas was likely to see in his life.

'So which battles were you in?' asked Falric.

'Mostly guard duty, actually.' said Thornby. 'We're originally from Stormwind. After the Orcs invaded, we fled with everyone else. Then I spent most of the war acting as a guard in one non-combat zone, to another. It was quite anticlimactic, actually. Then I saw combat, near the end, during the siege of Lordaeron City.' His voice became a bit haunted at the memory.

'I was there as well!' said Falric, enthusiasm in his tone. 'Which wall were you stationed on, west?'

'East actually.' said Thornby 'Had quite a few scrapes in that one, nasty business.'

'Ah, well I was on the north,' said Falric 'we were hit hard. That explains why I never saw you. Yet if you're from Stormwind, why didn't you go back?'

'When Stormwind was refounded, my family elected to stay.' replied Thornby simply. 'We prefer the climate in this parts.'

'Ah,' said Falric 'I'm a Lordaeron native through and through. I've only been to Stormwind once, really. Nice enough place, if cold.'

The conversation died down, however, as they approached the bridge leading to Strahnbrad. It was quiet, far too quiet, and Strahnbrad in the distance came into view. The gates had been cast down, and plumes of smoke and fire arose from several locations in the town. Arthas quickened his pace, leading his forces forward towards the broken remnants of the gate. A villager rushed into view, pursued by massive green skinned brutes.

'He's escaping!' roared the orc in fast pursuit.

'Save us!' cried the villager, before he was cut down mid stride.

'Damn, the attack has already begun.' Said Arthas, scarcely able to comprehend the ramifications. 'To arms my brothers!'

They rushed forward and surrounded the orcs who had pursued the man, hacking them to pieces in moments before pressing on into the town. The orcs themselves soon proved to outnumber the Alliance forces greatly, but they were spread thin throughout the town, and preoccupied with looting and murder. villagers fled in terror, pursued by orcs who cut them down where they ran. They set buildings filled with woman and child alight with torches and boarded up the the Alliance was upon them. The footmen hacked them to pieces with silent anger. The barriers trapping villagers within flaming buildings were pulled down. The warriors were slain in the streets. The Alliance forces went from door to door, building to building, killing orcs wherever they found them. Whenever a footmen

Then the Alliance was upon them. The footmen hacked them to pieces with silent anger. The barriers trapping villagers within flaming buildings were pulled down. The warriors were slain in the streets. The Alliance forces went from door to door, building to building, killing orcs wherever they found them. Whenever a footmen tired or were injured, Arthas would raise his hammer and restore the man's strength and body in a flash of light. During the fighting Arthas caved in the skull of a wolf rider and broke the legs of a grunt, whom Marwynn finished where he lay with one stroke of his sword.

Soon they were joined by others, veterans of the Second War who had put up stiff resistance to the orcs before their homes. Falric had gathered them, and now they joined in the fight to repel the invaders. As the battle raged on, the Alliance trapped the Orcs in a pincer movement, so that the brutes were hacked to pieces from all sides. Then traveling to the north most regions of town, he met the last bastion of orcish resistance.

An orc warchief stood atop a black horse, carrying a spiked club and round shield. His warriors stood about him, and before them stood many chained and bound villagers, looking terrified. The orc looked upon them with a disdainful countenance. 'Haul these wretches off with the rest of them.'

'Move em out!' shouted an orc slaver.

The villagers were led away, even as Arthas and his soldiers rushed to free them. Yet the orcs barred their path, and a vicious conflict ensued. The orcs fought well, and were stronger, but they were far outnumbered, and unlike the humans their leader could not heal grievous wounds. It was almost inevitable that they would be defeated. Finally Arthas crushed in the Warchief's chest, and moments later the last orc warrior fell. The footmen of the Alliance had not suffered one casualty. The orcs, by contrast, had lost many dozens in the combat.

Yet Arthas took no satisfaction from the victory, for he had arrived too late. The bodies of many innocent lay hewn upon the ground, and some of the towns buildings were in flames. For a time, a sense of terror held over that place and he became afraid that he had saved no one. Then those that had survived made their way out into the open, and cheered raggedly. They numbered greater than Arthas had expected, he supposed that was something.

'Bless you, Prince Arthas.' said a woman, standing with her husband and child.

Arthas couldn't think of an answer, the weight of his failure was still on him. He opened his mouth to speak, but a child beat him to it.

'But what about the others who were taken away?' asked the child.

The Prince stirred, for he felt he needed to say something, anything other than 'they are gone.' 'Don't worry son.' said Arthas in a tone of reassurance. 'We'll find them and bring them home safe.' That was all he could really say.

At that moment, a rider arrived from Lord Uther. 'Prince Arthas, Lord Uther needs you at the Orc encampment immediately.'

Arthas was relieved at the distraction from his failure. He would feel guilty about all this later, for now he had work to do. 'Never a dull moment,' He said, trying to sound like some bold adventurer. 'lets get moving.'

This was going to be a long day.

* * *

When Arthas had last been to this location, he had encountered Feanor Steeltoe, a notable dwarven master who had migrated to Lordaeron along with much of his clan. The Dwarf had set up a smithy, and he and his sons had begun planning to hunt the black dragon who had taken up residence in the area. Arthas had volunteered to assist him, and so had begun a rather sudden adventure wherein the Prince and Dwarves had ventured deep into a mountain. Whatever reservations Arthas had felt with killing the dragons at first at this was mitigated by the endless piles of mangled bones he had found in the cave. Eventually, they had killed Searinox himself and brought back his heart for forging by the dwarf. Arthas' hammer now radiated with an aura of flame to contrast its light. Ever afterward Feanor, his sons, and his subjects had provided metalworking for the surrounding areas, and also had sworn to provide riflemen for the defense of the town.

From the looks of things, Feanor had kept his word, for Arthas saw as he entered the Camp, bustling with soldiers. Uther looked up from where he was gazing over maps and smiled. 'Ah, good timing lad,' he said as Arthas approached. 'I sent two of my best Knights to parley with the orc leader. They should be returning shortly.'

It was at this moment that two riderless horses rushed into the camp. Soldiers looked up, and muttered in outrage, as a sense of grim fury permeated the camp. The Orcs had violated parley. One of the oldest and most basic of codes of morality. The thing which separated sentient from beast in the annals of warefare. Killing messengers gained you nothing, it only served to bring the wrath of the opposing party. It was the ultimate expression of contempt for all that was looked at the riderless horses with the sort of expression one can only have when they have seen too much of such actions. 'Damn,' he said 'these Orcs will never surrender.'

Uther looked at the riderless horses with the sort of expression one can only have when they have seen too much of such actions. 'Damn,' he said 'these Orcs will never surrender.'

'Then let's get in there and destroy the beasts!' snapped Arthas, recalling the bodies of hewn villagers in Strahnbrad.

'Remember Arthas, we are Paladins.' said Uther in a stern tone. 'Vengeance cannot be a part of what we must do. If we allow our passions to turn to bloodlust, then we will become as vile as the Orcs.'

'Yes, Uther.' said Arthas, remembering his place. He might have been the Prince, but Uther was still his superior as a Paladin.

'Now,' said Uther, moving on. 'if you're feeling up to it, I want you to lead the attack.'

'Me?' said Arthas, feeling a sense of enthusiasm. 'Well of course!'

'I'll remain here and ensure that none of the loathsome beasts threaten the camp.' said Uther, hefting his hammer onto one shoulder.

'I won't fail you.' said Arthas, feeling trepidation at the idea of meeting the Orcs in battle.

'I know you won't lad.' said Uther with a fatherly smile.

Of course, there was much to be done before any kind of assault could be mounted. The people of Strahnbrad had sent many of their young men to be trained as footmen, and much time had to be spent arranging for their armor and weapons. Arthas had been given specific instructions to ensure that a repeat of this situation did not occur. Outlying farmsteads were reclaimed, and their buildings reconstructed. Footmen equipment was mass produced, and their training regime initiated. Most footmen these days had a rather brief training period generally consisting of being given a few pointers by their superior, and learning the rest on the fly. It was probably why their performance against the orcs had dropped recently.

'Our scouts have just returned.' said Falric, making his way up to a meeting. 'It seems the orcish chieftain is currently separate from his village. He's being guarded by his personal bodyguard, but otherwise, is exposed. We could probably cut off the head of the beast, and solve quite a few problems without a real fight.'

'That sounds like a fine plan to me, lad.' said Uther.

'Very well,' Said Arthas 'once we've finished our preparations we can see about that.'

'There is another matter, Prince Arthas,' continued Falric 'our scouts have reported two gnoll villages to the east and west of our forces. Shall we wipe them out?'

Arthas blinked in surprise. He knew his friend was a veteran of the Second War, but even then his blasé way of suggesting genocide was disturbing. 'Are they doing anything wrong?' he asked after a moment. 'Raiding us, or… kidnapping children?' He recalled their rescue mission earlier.

'Well… no, I think they are just living here.' said Falric, shifting uneasily. 'It's quite possible that this region was seldom traveled before the orcs came here. They must have escaped notice.'

'Then we will not assault them.' said Arthas. 'It wouldn't be a fair fight anyway. The gnolls haven't been a legitimate threat to us in centuries. We need not perpetrate a massacre.' He looked up to Uther, who nodded in affirmation. 'I'm going to do a bit of scouting for myself. Falric, stay here and organize the defense in my absence.'

'Yes sir.' said Falric.

Arthas made his way to the edge of the camp and saw one of his soldiers from Strahnbrad. 'Marwynn, follow me. I'd like company as I walk.'

'Of course sir.' said Marwynn, before marching after him.

They made their way through the forests. The day was bright above, but not much of the sunlight could reach through the trees to illuminate their path. There were more than a fair share of shadows, but overall it was a rather pleasant affair. They spoke little, and soon found themselves coming to a large lake, some ways north of the camp. Within the camp there were a number of hunched amphibeans, milling about. They wielded blades made of shells, and had fish eyes.

'Murlocs? Here?' said Marwynn in surprise. 'They must have an encampment somewhere nearby.' And he looked ready to descend into the waters, and hunt them. Arthas raised a hand calmly and he stopped.

'Stay your blade, Marwynn.' said Arthas calmly. 'So long as they make no move against us, we'll leave them be.'

'Yes sir,' said Marwynn quickly.

They returned to the camp, and just in time. No sooner had they begun to approach Uther, and a war cry rang out throughout the hills. Out of the trees burst countless orcs, wielding axes and massive swords. Some rode black wolves that snarled and snapped, while trolls rushed behind them, hurling spears into the midsts of the camp. Several footmen fell dead with spears through their hearts, as the rest rushed to meet the orcs, and standing with them was Uther. With one stroke of his hammer Uther slew three orcs in one blow. A wall of shields met the berserker charge of the orcs. Arthas and Marwynn rushed into the fray.

The two sides met and a terrible battle ensued. Marwynn blocked an axe blow, then ran an orc through the throat. Falric tore a rider from his wolf by hand and beheaded him with practiced ease as he lay on the ground. The rifleman gunned down half a dozen trolls in a brutal firefight and lost a few of their own for their trouble. A footman drove a sword into the back of an orc from behind. Arthas and Uther were in the thick of the fighting standing back to back, laying about them with their hammers and breaking limbs and skulls, occasionally raising their hammers skyward to heal a wounded comrade even as they faltered.

On and on the waves of orcs came, and soon the workers of the camp arrived, wielding axes and bucklers and joining the fray. Blood stained the ground as the orcish corpses piled up. More and more of the trolls were killed by the riflemen, as the footmen engaged them and began to hack them apart. Bowmen fired from the towers, piercing many orcs with blue feathered arrows. Arthas stepped aside from a lunge by a rider and smashed his warg out from under him. Before long the chaos of the battle had reformed into an ordered affair, as the soldiers of the alliance fought in a line formation, slowly but surely driving the orcs before them, and killing countless numbers of them in the process.

Finally, after hundreds upon hundreds of them had been slain, the orc reinforcements began to lose their nerve at the sight of their comrade's bodies. They turned and fled. Uther moved to pursue, then halted as his gaze fell upon a massive tattooed orc, wielding a katana that marked him as a blade master, who had stood apart from the fray. He had a long white beard and was of larger stature than the others. He approached Uther with an expression of contempt.'Paladin fool!' He proclaimed, raising his katana. 'The warlocks of the Blackrock Clan have spoken! Soon, Demons shall reign from the sky, and this wretched world will burn!'

'Paladin fool!' He proclaimed, raising his katana. 'The warlocks of the Blackrock Clan have spoken! Soon, Demons shall reign from the sky, and this wretched world will burn!'

'Yes,' said Uther in equal part contempt and long-suffering exasperation. 'I've heard this rhetoric before. You Orcs will never learn!' The two warriors charged each other, and Uther swung his hammer around and slammed his enemy head on. There was a phasing of magic, and the Orc was gone.

'Damn, it was only a mirror image.' said Uther as he planted his hammer in the ground. 'What are those curs up to?'

Suddenly a vision assailed Arthas, as sometimes happened to servants of the light. They beheld the Orcish Blademaster, atop a hill strewn with dismembered corpses. Skulls were piled high, and villagers were impaled on spits. Cauldrons were filled with acid, and white skulls floating within them. Now they saw what had happened to the survivors of Strahnbrad. They had not been taken for slaves, but sacrifices. The Blackrock Chieftan towered above three survivors, a man clad in the armor of a warrior, a young woman clad in rags with an empty look of violation in her eyes, and a third man whose wrists were broken.

'The hour of Doom approaches!' proclaimed the Chieftan 'Let this paltry sacrifice appease our Demon Masters!' And he raised his sword. Arthas strove to call out, to move to stop him, yet there was nothing he could do to stop the fall of the blade

'You sick bastard!' snapped the Footmen, defiant to the end. 'You'll never get away with-' And then his head was cut from his shoulders in a single strike. The Woman cringed away as the blood spattered over her clothes, and let out a scream before her own blood soon stained as she too was slaughtered like an animal. Last of all the man was butchered, and then the vision faded and Arthas was standing amidst the soldiers of Lordaeron, back in the camp. He knew from the look in Uther's eyes that he had had the same vision.

'…Slay the Orcs,' said Arthas 'SLAY THEM ALL!'

He led his Soldiers out onto the field, hefting his hammer. It suddenly no longer mattered to him what Uther would think. From all restraint and teachings of mercy, his mind now shook free as the wrath of the light was unleashed within him. The footman sped up the hill, hauling their heavy armor with them, running together united by wrath. They were clad in gleaming mail and bore long swords and shields each. Their faces were hidden within helms of steel, and their boots were up to the knees. Behind them ran the dwarven riflemen under Feanor Steeltoe, and ahead of them, they perceived a force of orcs, waiting upon the hill. Many assaults had been beaten back by the Footmen already, and hundreds of the Orcs now lay dead on the plains behind them. Yet those that remained within the camp number in the hundreds themselves, and more were arriving.

At the front of the formation Prince Arthas, wielding his hammer. Lord Uther had remained behind to guard the village and watched as the forces of the Alliance met the orcs midway up the hill. Swords met axes, shields were battered as helms were cleaved. Yet swords were driven into Demon worshipping hearts, and guns echoed as warriors fell dead. Arthas smashed the heads from a row of orcs with one stroke. The Green skinned brutes were driven before them, cut to pieces as riflemen fired at their rear, killing many. The fury of the men of Lordaeron was unleashed in fully. Thus the alliance drove them all the way back to the camp of the orcs itself, and here their assault slowed.

The orcs turned as they reached their homes and fought like mad to halt their approach, and dealt many wicked wounds. Reinforcements arrived from their other colonies to aid in the battle, as the carnage continued. Yet reinforcements also arrived from the camp of the Alliance, and each time a wound was inflicted, Arthas would raise his hammer and mend the flesh and steel of the footmen with the holy light. The wounds inflicted upon the orcs had so such cure. On and on the battle waged, and little by little the orcs were cut down. Jungle trolls came to their aid and hurled endless volleys of spears at them, and a number of footmen fell dead. Yet the determination of the alliance was unshakeable, and dwarven riflemen blasted the trolls dead with their guns. Spears fell amongst them, however, and a few Dwarves were hit and badly wounded. Many an orcish warrior that day felt a hammer blow to the head and died, and many more felt the pierce of footmen's swords.

Finally, the remaining orcs broke and fled once again. Yet there was nowhere to go, their very defenses were now turned into a cage from which the only exit was the pass which had been taken by the Alliance. Some were grabbed and forced to the ground before the Prince. Others were killed. The remaining orcs were bound at the center of the camp and presented before the Prince. They numbered perhaps two hundred.

'Victory is ours Prince Arthas!' proclaimed Falric 'What would you have done with the enemy prisoners?'

'Kill them all.' said Arthas, fury in his tone. 'Not one warrior of the Blackrock Clan is to leave this place alive.'

Without hesitation the footmen cut the Orcs throats, and let them bleed out, or stabbed them through the throats, hacking off their limbs. Some lost their eyes ears and tongues before they were put out of their misery. Without orders from Arthas, who watched in grim satisfaction, the alliance forces lit torches and set them to the barracks, war mill, and wolf fires lit and blazed without relent, consuming the buildings as Arthas watched in silent fury. Whimpers of the creatures within could be heard, as could the screams of those who had taken shelter to hide there. Even then Arthas did nothing. However, then he saw a number of footmen making their way towards the orcs pig farms, where peons

The fires lit and blazed without relent, consuming the buildings as Arthas watched in silent fury. Whimpers of the creatures within could be heard, as could the screams of those who had taken shelter to hide there. Even then Arthas did nothing. However then he saw a number of footmen making their way towards the orcs pig farms, where peons cowered even now, his senses returned to him and he remembered Uther's words.

'Stop!' he called quickly, and the footmen halted. 'Peons are badly mistreated slaves to the orcs, not warriors. They had no say in what happened to Strahnbrad. Leave them be.'

'As you wish my Lord.' said Falric, nodding, his face white.

Arthas took one final look onto what had once been a foreboding orc encampment. The places of the warriors were in flames. The war mill where weapons were forged was destroyed utterly, its machinery pillaged. The survivors were cowering within their homes, no threat to anyone.'Strahnbrad is avenged.' He proclaimed 'We will return our dead to camp, then deal with the blademaster.'

'Strahnbrad is avenged.' He proclaimed 'We will return our dead to camp, then deal with the blademaster.'

A count was taken of the numbers of dead, and Arthas waited. Eventually, Falric approached him, looking a bit white in the face. 'Sir,' said Falric 'one of Feanor's sons is amongst the dead.'

Arthas looked back, shaken. He realized now that if he hadn't launched a vengeance-driven assault upon the Orcs here that many men would still be alive. Yet it was too late to change his decisions, he would just have to go on. He felt guilt for the terrors he had inflicted on his enemies. They might have been evil, but he should not have sunk to their level. The alliance forces made their way back to the camp, where the dead were laid in lines with white cloths over their faces. The ceremonies and burials would have to wait.

Wordlessly, Arthas led his forces towards the great hill on which stood the orc responsible for all this carnage. They first encountered a group of trolls and orcs standing before a campfire, who picked up their weapons and rushed the contingent. The dwarves shot them dead without words, and they continued onwards. They met a force of wolf riders and grunts at the base of the hill and said not a word. Not as they cut them down, not as they swept away the last line of defense midway up the hill and not as they faced the blademaster.

The blademaster was looking for a glorious end, no doubt involving standing atop a mountain of Arthas' men's corpses. Arthas did not give him one.

'Shoot him dead, and pull away if he charges you, then fire again.' He instructed his a volley, before withdrawing before he could lay a blade on them. Always they remained just out of reach, and all the mirror images in the world could not prevent the Blademaster from being worn down by the endless lead entering his body. Finally, after a long time, he collapsed to the ground, bloodied and exhausted. Arthas made his way over to the

They obeyed, firing a volley, before withdrawing before he could lay a blade on them. Always they remained just out of reach, and all the mirror images in the world could not prevent the Blademaster from being worn down by the endless lead entering his body. Finally, after a long time, he collapsed to the ground, bloodied and exhausted. Arthas made his way over to the body and realized he was still breathing. Without further ado, he smashed the beast's skull with a hammer.

It was over. Yet the bodies remained.

The rest of it was a blur to Arthas. He did not recall exactly when he had given a speech at a funeral in which they put the dead to rest. Nor did he remember what he said after they had been put to their eternal rest. His mind was distant and devoid of focus. They piled the orc and troll carcasses in a great heap and burned them, and the smoke of it was seen for many miles. When he came to he was standing in a sunny glade. Birds were singing, flowers were blooming and Uther was speaking to him.

'You've done well lad.' said Uther, far too composed. 'This was a sound victory.'

'I don't know, Uther.' said Arthas, feeling unstable. 'The orcs were sacrificing townsfolk. I think they were trying to summon demons.' Was this merely the precursor for something worse?'

'Have faith lad.' said Uther in confidence. 'These orcs are trying to hold on to dying traditions. We defeated their demons a long time ago.' Arthas took heart at his words, for he knew Uther had seen this all before many times. If he could stomach it, then surely Arthas could as well. 'Let's head for home, it's been a long day.'

Truer words had never been spoken.

* * *

King Terenas received the report regarding his son's exploits with pride and satisfaction. What had been feared to be a new invasion that might well spark a Third War, had largely fizzled out. The orcs who had stolen the ships from the Alliance Naval Base had sailed into the Maelstrom and almost certainly died there, though Daelin Proudmoore was more than a little annoyed with the loss of both the orc chieftain he had personally captured and the ships. Meanwhile, the Blackrock Orcs who had moved into the northlands had been soundly defeated and killed almost to the man. Well over a thousand of their kind had been slaughtered in that bloodshed, while a little more than a hundred soldiers of the Alliance had fallen. The damage to Strahnbrad was unfortunate, but it could be dealt with in time.

No more raiders had dared set foot in Alliance territory once word of the battle had spread. He was not entirely comfortable with how his son had casually ordered all the prisoners of war summarily executed, but then they had extended mercy to the orcs before and gained very little for it. Perhaps cruelty had its place in foreign policy after all. At any rate, all reports suggested that the Horde had fled into the Alterac Mountains to lick its wounds. With the defeat of the Horde, things looked like they were about to settle down.

So much the better, for Terenas was tired of endless war. He greatly desired to rest. There was still the matter of the plague which had gripped the Northlands, but once that business was resolved he was confident the lands could return to peace.

Take that rambling prophet.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

So yeah, this is the point where it should become apparent that Arthas is going to be a lot less restrained than he is in Mercy of the Damned. The battle with the Blackrock orcs has some of the best foreshadowings in the game. It more or less heralds the entire story arc of the Scourge of Lordaeron, while giving us a chance to see Arthas at his best. Moreover, the Scourge of Lordaeron is more or less about Arthas' roaring rampage of revenge.

I choose to combine two missions into one chapter because to be perfectly honest there just wasn't enough content in either one for a full chapter. I also made the decision to have the subquests be flashbacks. This was because Arthas has been established as 'one of the realms greatest Paladins' despite being only level one, with no information on his previous exploits. Consequently, assuming that the subquests were Arthas' career _before_ the events of Strahnbrad makes a great deal of sense. This way we avoid having to justify why Arthas is busy doing subquests when an assault is about to happen on an innocent town while keeping the tone of the mission intact.

And yes, I am aware that you don't have to destroy the Blackrock base. So was Arthas, but the fact is that the Blackrock's just brutally slaughtered half a town. Arthas is pissed, and the human sacrifice thing drove him over the edge. And from a rational perspective, making an example of these orcs helps to deter future raids.

This story is called _Wrath of the Light_ for a reason. Arthas shows his restraint by leaving the gnolls and murlocs alone since he has no reason to fight them. The Blackrock Orcs don't _deserve_ mercy, and are in fact due for a major league ass kicking. So he gives them one.

Oh, and Harkyn Grymstone is a cameo character from the Sunwell Trilogy. It was how I got into Warcraft in the first place, so I figured I'd add him in. It makes sense for him to be on an expedition hunting dragons after all.

By the way, I'm posting two chapters to start with, since the first one is basically a prologue.

 **EDIT:**

Changed a few of the action scenes a bit, and tightened up a few scenes. Overall this chapter was pretty darn good I'd say, so I didn't need to update it much.


	3. Ravages of the Plague

**Chapter Three: Ravages of the Plague**

The badge gleamed before Marwynn in Arthas' hand, and the soldier remained silent for a few long moments. He strove to speak, and after a time, he succeeded. 'I don't think I deserve this, my liege.' the soldier said.

'Marwynn,' laughed Arthas 'you've been due for a commission since the second war ended. Normal infantry work is too good for you at this stage. You've earned a command.'

'But as the commander of the Harthglen Guard?' asked Marwynn 'I… its more than I ever expected to achieve.'

'You'll do fine.' Arthur reassured him. 'Your only task is to keep the villages safe until relief forces arrive, and train the militia into something worthwhile.'

'I would prefer to remain in your service, my Lord.' said Marwynn.

Arthas sighed. 'And so would I. But the fact is that I can't just think of myself, I'm a Prince. The areas north of here lacks proper military coordination. They need someone who can keep things working, and your the best soldier I know besides Falric. Its either you, or pick some unseasoned noble, who will probably just take the pay check and never show up.' He paused. 'I'll tell you what, I'm going to be embarking on a new mission in a few weeks to investigate this… plague. I'll be stopping by Harthglen at some point during it. If things aren't working out, and you really feel its not a fit, then just tell me then, and I'll arrange for you to be reassigned. Deal?'

'I… I accept then.' said Marwynn, taking the badge. 'Thank you, my Prince.'

'You can thank me when we meet again.' said Arthas 'I've had a horse put aside so you can get there swiftly and take up your duties. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to meet with Uther.' The two friends shook hands and parted ways. Marwynn mounted a horse and rode out towards Harthglen, while Arthas made his way to the tent where Uther was waiting within, at a table where he was making plans.

The old Paladin looked up, seeming very tired. 'Ah, Arthas, I'm glad your here. I've just received word that King Terenas has assigned you to escort Princess Proudmoore in an investigation into the plague.'

'She prefers to be called Jaina,' replied Arthas, wincing at the title and the memory of their time together. 'but yes. I'm actually looking forward to seeing her again.' He paused as he wondered if he had spoken too openly.

'Then at least there is some good news.' said Uther, before motioning to the Black Haired Man who was with him. 'This is Sir Gavinrad the Dire, I believe you've heard of him.'

'Uther has told me all about you.' said Arthas 'It's a pleasure to meet you.' He shook Gavinrad's hand.

'Uther has told me of your exploits against the orcs, I congratulate you on your successful victory.' said Gavinrad with a polite nod. 'Unfortunately, the pleasure will be somewhat lessened when I'm done, I'm afraid. For I'm here to brief you on what we've learned of the plague through trial and error. It's been my assignment to find a cure, and we've had no luck.'

'Can you not simply use the light to heal it?' asked Arthas.

Gavinrad shook his head gravely. 'Alas, no, the light seems to cause only suffering to those who are infected. Several of the worst cases have actually killed the subjects. It originated in the northlands, and we have no idea how it spread. You will have your work cut out for you, young Paladin.'

'I'll do all I can to bring this plague to an end.' promised Arthas.

'Good,' said Uther 'take your task seriously lad. Frankly, I don't think this is the best of times to become reacquainted with Lady Proudmoore, for this will be a dark bit of business.'

'Uther,' said Arthas 'I've faced the orcs, seen the effects of one of their raids, and we defeated their demons a long time ago.' He said, smiling with a confidence he did not feel. 'How much worse could it possibly get?'

'Just be careful Arthas,' said Uther gravely 'your very important to a lot of people. It would grieve the Kingdom terribly if you died.'

'I will, Uther,' promised Arthas. 'goodbye.'

Within the hour, both Arthas and Falric departed those lands and made their way with several others to a crossroads along the King's Road.

* * *

Two weeks later in the Violet Gardens of Dalaran, Archmage Antonidas listened to the Prophet ramble. In all honesty Antonidas found the soothing flow of the fountain near them to be far more interesting than the posing antics of the man before him. He'd only agreed to this meeting to pass the time between now and when he'd have to preside over a magical duel. Antonidas was beginning to regret listening to the man in the first place.

'You must be wiser than the king.' completed the Prophet, seeming to be aware of Antonidas' disdain. 'The end is near!'

'I told you before, I'm not interested in this nonsense.' replied Antonidas. He could sense a certain amount of power about him, but that was hardly an indicator of sanity.

'Then I've wasted my time here.' said the Prophet in resignation. Then his whole form shifted, and he transformed once more into a raven and flew away from Antonidas, who watched him go.

'You can show yourself now Jaina, he's gone.' said Antonidas after a moment.

Jaina blinked in surprise. She hadn't been aware that Antonidas had known she was there. She supposed she should have known better than to try and 'I'm sorry for eavesdropping Master, but-'

'It's your inquisitive nature which I've come to rely on, child.' said Antonidas with a laugh, before glancing to the raven in the distance. 'That crazed fool is convinced that the world is about to end.' There was a note of pity, mixed with exasperation in his voice. Master Antonidas raised one hand, and there was a phasing of blue magic before they were both teleported to a high balcony, overlooking two comely sorceresses, vying for the attentions of a judge.

As the match began Jaina glanced up to her master in concern. 'I've heard the rumors of the plague spreading throughout the northlands.' she said 'Do you truly believe that the plague is magical in nature?'

'It's a strong possibility.' said Antonidas 'That's why I want you to travel there and investigate the matter.' Jaina blinked, feeling very unsure of this. 'I've arranged for a special envoy to assist you.' He added.

The match began, and one of the sorceresses weaved an incantation that transformed the other into a sheep, before beginning to blast her opponent with repeated spells.

'Yes Master, I'll do my best.' said Jaina, for there was really nothing else to say.

'I know you will, child.' said Antonidas, pressing a letter with the mission details within it. 'I shall not be able to see you off, I fear. There is much work to be done at present. Farewell.'

They parted ways there, and Jaina made her way on foot to the gates of Dalaran. There she got supplies for her journey and donning a suitable cloak made her way away from the violet citadel. It would be a pleasant diversion, at least.

* * *

Two days into her journey, Jaina had been traveling without end and had yet to make any real social contact. She was not by nature a social person, of course, and found not joy in speaking with villagers and peasants, whom she regarded as not quite intelligent enough to hold a proper conversation. Magic and philosophy went straight over their heads. On the second day, she roomed at an inn for the night, and while drinking alone overheard a conversation.

'Has anyone seen Jim of late?' asked a peasant. 'I haven't seen him around.'

'The fool was always traveling farther and farther afield,' replied the other 'he probably got himself killed. You all heard about those ogres who have come down from the hills. They have been barring passage for everyone who travels there. Next thing you know they'll be coming down here.'

'Don't talk like that,' said the first. 'we've enough problems with those damn orcs without you getting everyone worked up over nothing.'

'It won't be nothing,' said the other 'if they come down here.'

Jaina went to bed that night concerned for the safety of the village. As she fell asleep she reflected that though the second war was over, the Alliance still faced many threats from within and without. She awoke the next morning, paid for her stay, and then made her way along her road. Some warned her against traveling alone, but she wasn't inclined to listen. As soon as she needed help, she could summon it.

Making her way along the path, she suddenly stopped. 'Wait a minute,' she said, making her way to the edge of the path. 'are those the ogres they were talking about?' Indeed they were, and they were crowded around a camp, a whole clan of them with men, women and children included. If they set up a permanent settlement here it would bring no end of troubles for the Alliance. Already she could see a villagers corpses {who she assumed was Jim} impaled on a stake. 'Well, I'd better go take care of this.'

She broke away from the path and made her way forward before stepping right into the midsts of the clearing. The ogres looked up, roared and charged at her with their clubs. Jaina raised one hand and in an instant channeled the raw elemental powers of magic to summon a water elemental. The creature appeared and assaulted the ogres, who turned their attention to beating at the creature.

Jaina fired a bolt of flame with passed through the heart of one of the smaller ogres, slaying it instantly. The largest of them then turned and rushed her, however, Jaina fled into the woods. The creature then turned back to the water elemental, which by now looked to be weakening, though it had killed one of the warriors. However even as it recoiled, Jaina emerged and summoned another one, before pressing into the fray. Two more ogres were slain, as the woman and children took flight in terror, abandoning their camp entirely. Several more ogres died before Jaina found she had slain all who remained within the clearing. Their massive corpses lay all around the clearing.

Satisfied that the ogres would no longer present a threat, Jaina unsummoned her remaining water elemental with a wave of her staff. Even as she did so, however, the underbrush was thrust aside, and two ogres shouldered their way into the clearing. Evidently, they had been away scouting and had returned just in time to find their comrades slain. Jaina suddenly realized that she lacked the mana to summon another water elemental. Well, this was awkward.

She ran. They pursued.

Jaina only needed to buy time for her magical reserves to recharge. Then she would show these ogres what happened to bandits.

* * *

Three days later in Alterac, Arthas and his men waited near a crossroads along the King's road. The air was clear and crisp, the trees were swaying in the winds, and the camp fire was burning low. Arthas stood by it, while his soldiers stood beneath him. Although Arthas made a point of knowing his soldier's names and recognizing their faces, he could not deny that there was a certain distance between him and his soldiers. They had clearly wanted to ask him something for quite some time, but because of his rank, they were reluctant to do so.

For his part, Arthas was trying to shake away the memory of the Blackrock orcs butchery. He remembered pale faces on the corpses of villagers he had been unable to save. If he hadn't arrived just then…

If he had only arrived sooner…

His attention was mercifully drawn away as Falric scaled the hill to speak to him. 'Prince Arthas, we've been waiting here for hours.' the captain said 'Are you sure this friend of yours is coming?'

'I'm sure,' said Arthas with confidence. 'Jaina usually runs a little late.'

At that moment, Jaina herself came round the corner. Her blue hood was down, and her blonde hair was flowing around her. She was clad in a white bustier which clung to her voluptuous form, drawing attention to her ample chest, and wore baggy white pants which were low on her wide hips. A long blue cloak trailed behind her as she ran, staff in hand. And behind her came two Ogres, wielding clubs as big as a man. Jaina was smiling.

'We must help her!' said Falric.

'Stay your blade, Captain.' said Arthas 'Jaina can take care of herself.' A morbid part of his mind suggested that Jaina failing to back up his words would result in a profoundly awkward conversation with Antonidas after all this mission was over. However, he shook it away.

Suddenly Jaina whirled around and channeled a spell through her staff. What could only be described as a living wave formed out of thin air, and sent waves of concentrated water at the ogres, who smashed it with their clubs! While they were preoccupied with the water elemental, Jaina raised one hand quite calmly and sent a single bolt of fire through the left most ogre. The ogre screamed as his heart was burned away, and he fell dead.

The other ogre, evidently, did not think its prey worth the risk and fled. Several water waves and bolts of fire singed and soaked it as it fled round the corner, and was not seen again.

For his part, Arthas and his men went down to meet Jaina, who turned to smile at him.

'Gentlemen, meet miss Jaina Proudmoore, special agent to the Kirin Tor, and one of the most talented Sorceresses in the Land.' said Arthas confidently. 'Looks like you haven't lost your touch. It's good to see you again, Jaina.' He wondered why he had chosen to break off his relationship with her in the first place?

'You too, Arthas,' she replied with the same smile that always made him uncomfortable. 'It's been a while since a Prince escorted me anywhere.' Ah, now he remembered, she was obsessive to the point of being creepy.

'Yes, it has.' he answered 'Well, I guess we should get underway.'

They made their way from the crossroads, leaving the campfire behind as they headed northwest for a time. Birds were singing, the grass was green, and the smell of fresh flowers could be discerned.

Jaina nodded demurely. 'Our sources believe that the plague originated in the region north of here. We should check out the villages along the King's road.'

Falric coughed for attention and got it. 'Prince Arthas, if I may. Those ogres who assaulted the Lady Proudmoore remain a threat to any and all travelers in this region. While I understand that this mission is urgent and that we would have to backtrack to deal with them, I do not like the idea of letting those beasts run rampant.'

'You would have us hunt them down and destroy them?' surmised Arthas, not entirely comfortable with the idea. He had had his fill of death in battle with the Blackrock Clan. The Prince realized suddenly that if he never saw another battle as long as he lived, he would be perfectly content with his record. Yet in his heart, he knew the truth. He'd be at war for his entire life. Thus he knew how Falric would answer.

'Yes,' said Falric grimly 'I saw what ogres do to villages during the Second War. I have no desire to see it happen again.'

So much for peace, Arthas reflected bitterly as he opened his mouth to agree.

'You don't need to worry about that,' Jaina spoke up. 'I already killed them all.'

There was a long silence, all eyes turning to Jaina.

'What?' Said Arthas, scarcely believing his ears. 'By yourself? Alone?' He half expected her to reveal she had been joking.

'Not much to tell,' said Jaina 'I was traveling by the road when I saw an ogre clan making camp by the road. They were a threat to passing travelers, so I summoned my water elemental and wiped them out. Except for that one who ran away, I let him live so he can tell the story to any other ogre clans he might take shelter in.' She paused, seeming to only just notice their stairs. 'Why are you looking at me like that?'

Arthas tried to find words. 'You slaughtered an entire clan for petty banditry?' Yes, he'd slaughtered most of a village, but they had done the same thing to Strahnbrad. 'Didn't it strike you as a bit… excessive?'

'Not really no,' admitted Jaina mildly. 'the Alliance may be the strongest power in the world, but even it would rather avoid having to fight every savage faction on the continent. The best defense is thus the fear of reprisal. If every time a human villager is butchered an entire village of the guilty party is sent to join them, pretty soon everyone will be so afraid of attacking us that we will have peace.'

'And what happens when the Alliance stops being the dominant power?' asked Arthas curiously. 'Such a policy might backfire spectacularly.'

'Fascinating though this is, why don't we keep moving milord.' said Falric 'With the ogres neutralized we'd best attend to our mission.'

'Yes, you're probably right.' agreed Arthas. 'Let's move out.'

As they traveled ever onward, the memory of the ogres faded, and they instead were able to focus on the road ahead. The weather was nice, and they made good time. After a while, the laughter of children could be heard ahead, and the smell of baking bread entered their nostrils. Thus they knew before they saw that they had come to the first of the villages.

Before long they came to an outlying farmstead, where the grain was in full growth. A woman made her way from where she had been looking over it, to lean over the wall. 'Prince Arthas,' she said 'there's something amiss at the bridge ahead.'

'We'll see what it's all about.' said Arthas quickly.

They pressed onwards and saw two blonde children playing tag around a maypole. Further on there were houses with thatched roofs with people speaking to one another about daily affairs. As they traveled people began to take note of their presence, in particular, a group of young woman.

'Look, its Prince Arthas!' said one amongst them.

Arthas found their reverence more than a little disturbing. 'You would think I was the greatest hero in the land and not Uther.' he muttered to himself.

'People need heroes,' replied Falric 'and people prefer them young.'

They marched onwards along the road, past many healthy farmsteads whose grain was being harvested. The sound of scythes hacking wheat could be heard as workers went about their tasks. Then they came to the bridge.

It had been broken across the middle, and all along the northern bank, nothing could be seen. The other side had a desolate look to it, really. Meanwhile, the people were all milling about, discussing the matter of the bridge. During this time, a man appeared. 'Milord, someone has destroyed the bridge from the far side of the river.' he said 'There is another way to cross, but… it is not as safe as it used to be.'

'What way is that?' asked Arthas.

'You must make your way east of here,' said the Man 'and then north once you get past the village. Once you are there, you'll find a shallow section of land which you can use to make your way to the other side.

Even so, word has it that many dangers have appeared.'

'Thank you for your assistance,' said Arthas 'I'll remember it.'

They made their way east, into the hills and before long found themselves drawing within sight of a smaller village than the one they had left. They passed by a number of farms, much like those they had left behind, and found the path leading southeast, through the village. The people were milling about, discussing matters.

Suddenly a group of thugs, clad in brown armor burst from the trees with axes and shields. 'Slaughter them all!'

'Bandits!' cried a villager 'Run!'

'Sack the town!' said Another.

'Save us!' pleaded a villager.

Arthas and his men rushed forward to meet the bandits. Even as they did so, a number of the ruffians cut down several villagers, and then the alliance was upon them. The clashing of swords soon filled the air, as Falric and his men engaged the bandits, and Arthas joined the fray. Jaina burned two to death with firebolts. Falric hewed the head from another. The other footmen slew many, while Arthas smashed in the skulls of the leader with his hammer.

Finally, the bandits all lay dead, and not one of Arthas' party had fallen. It had hardly been a battle, for the Bandits had been out of practice, and poorly trained, if trained at all. Even so, they had killed several villagers before they had fallen. A few had escaped to the north through the shallows on a river.

As the villagers were thanking Arthas endlessly for their lives, Falric kneeled down by the Bandit leaders body and picked it up. 'This is the crest of Alterac.' the Captain said. 'This butchery was the work of Aiden Pernolde's syndicate!'

'Yet how has he gotten such manpower?' asked Arthas, pressing through the crowds to meet him. 'Alterac's forces weren't disbanded, but absorbed into the military.'

'The Syndicate is a rallying point for traitors.' said Falric 'During the Second War, it became necessary to call to our banner everyone we could. In some case's jails were emptied, and convicts were given a second chance at life by fighting for the Alliance. Some of them earned redemption. Others, however, deserted after gaining their weaponry, sometimes corrupting their comrades to begin lives as bandits.

When the second war ended, many military men had been left without homes to return to. The orcs butchered many villages, and some of them in their desperation turned to banditry. The backbone of the Syndicates military was formed from such individuals, who became enforcers that kept the rest in line and gave orders.

They are all of them past redemption. They need to die for the sake of everyone else.'

'We'd best keep moving.' said Jaina 'The town is safe, and I'd rather not linger here any further.'

'I couldn't agree more.' decided Arthas, tiring of the villager's thanks.

An elderly villager approached. 'Milord, there is an ancient fountain shrine nearby. Legends say that its holy waters can restore health and heal grievous wounds.'

'That could prove to be useful indeed.' said Arthas, not revealing that he had already encountered the fountain in one of his previous journeys. The Prince recalled a time when he had been approached by a villager, who told stories of a fountain whose holy waters could heal grievous wounds. He recalled that he, Falric and Marwynn had crossed over the bridge, in search of the fountain years ago. They had found it, and provided its location to the nearby villagers. He returned his mind to the present situation.

They made their way to the river and halted. For they could see several little islands, upon which murlocs had set their villages. Arthas looked at them, then to Jaina and Fabric. 'What I'm about to ask of you may sound very unreasonable, but I want you to give me the benefit of the doubt.'

'What is it?' asked Jaina.

'I want us to move past those villages, without killing the murlocs.' said Arthas 'I don't know why, but I can't shake the feeling that there was a very good reason the bridge was cast down. If so, I'd rather there be something between this side of the shore, and whatever is on the other side. Murlocs usually keep to their territory, they don't do much raiding.'

'We'll follow whatever you say, sir.' said Falric.

'I think it might be better to wipe them out,' said Jaina 'but it sounds interesting.'

The group broke into a run, wading into the waters as quickly as they could. The river reached up to the waist, even in the shallows and their progress was slow. They pressed on and were just skirting past the southern edge of the murloc village when they were spotted. They pressed on, as the murlocks rushed from the village, and others clambered from the other side to block their path. Arthas knocked aside a murloc with the haft of his hammer. However, even as they crossed beyond the reach of the murloc camp, Arthas realized they were one soldier short. Looking back, he saw the Murlocs descending on the soldier, who was trapped in a weighted net.

Rushing through the waters with all his strength, Arthas gripped the net and set down his hammer in the water, before removing a knife and slashing it apart. 'Quickly, back to the others!' Arthas snapped, before grabbing his hammer. Even as the enemy descended on them, he and the footman rushed away to their comrades.

Yet the murlocs were fast behind them, and Jaina's firebolts did nothing to dissuade them. The group rushed to the northwest and ran straight into a force of Bandit Enforcers. The ensuing battle was short, bloody, and hate filled. During the combat Arthas was afraid that the murlocs would flank them, which distracted him for a time. Yet nothing came of that, and several times he raised his hammer to heal his comrades when they were failing.

Finally, all the Bandits lay dead.

'This was… unnecessary…' panted Jaina.

'Don't you remember the village?' asked Arthas. 'They deserved it.'

'No, I mean running past the murlocs,' said Jaina 'it would have been a whole lot simpler to fight them, after all. I'm all for negotiations, but that was just ridiculous.'

'Let's just keep moving.' said Arthas.

They found that the shallows ended on those islands, and so retraced their steps and took another path to the west. Finally, they reach a section of land on the opposite side of the river where they could climb up. Up they went, and they came over the edge of the rise to see a scene out of hell itself.

The land all before them was blackened, as an endless force of undead monsters lumbered forward, hands upon bows strung with black feathered arrows. Before them stood a force of footmen, clad in full armor with broad shields and long swords. Facing them was a great host of skeletons.

'Lock your shields and defend yourselves!' cried their Captain 'Their arrows won't get through!'

The footmen formed into a line, even as the masses of skeletons opened fire upon them. Their arrows seemed to blot out the sun, as they rained down upon the shield wall. Yet not one pierced the men of the Alliance, though their shields shuddered beneath the force of it.

'Skeletons?' said Arthas, rousing himself. 'Slay them all immediately!'

Falric and the others rushed to join the formation, while Arthas who had no shield rushed ahead of it toward the enemy army. Jaina was behind him, summoning her water elemental into the world and casting firebolts into the enemies midst. Arthas brought round his hammer and smashed a skeleton to pieces as the battle line slammed into the skeletons. On and on their arrows came, as the men of Lordaeron hacked and slashed their way through the swarms. A man was pierced by several, and fell, however, Arthas smashed aside a skeleton, stooped by him, and taking hold of the arrows pulled the free, before healing him of his wounds. He quickly rejoined the fray.

Before long, they were victorious.

Now that they had fallen, Arthas took in the destruction which had overtaken the area. They had been the last bastion of defense when Arthas had arrived. Most of the village was afire, or blackened and broken beyond repair. The ground itself was blighted. Jaina looked in fascination at it all.

Arthas has better things to do. 'What were those creatures, Sergeant?' asked Arthas, trying to keep the panic out of his tone.

'Undead milord,' said the Sergeant. 'this whole village has gone mad! We did our best to protect the villagers but-'

'We'll get to the bottom of this.' assured Arthas, not really wanting to know. Yet he had to know, he was their Prince. 'Were there any survivors?'

'Most of those who survived are taking shelter in that house over there.' said the Sergeant. 'There are quite a few of them, but… even if we rebuild, the crops… how can they grow crops now? Only one of our fields escaped, and our stores-'

'Tell them to wait here for word.' said Arthas quickly 'I'll return once I've secured the area. For now, you men will come with us. We'll clear out any more undead, and secure the area.' It was small reassurance, reflected Arthas as he looked around at what had happened to most of the village. A granary was burned and destroyed, and fields had withered and died, as houses had been consumed in flames. In some places, the flames were still dying down.

They journeyed further west, past a flaming windmill, and into a forested region where Arthas recalled he and Falric had found the fountain. By now several days had passed during their journey, and with every step, their worry grew as they went deeper into the forest. Before long they came to another hamlet, and like the other, it was writhed in flames and blackened by war. The fields were likewise corrupted. Unlike the previous village, however, no sign could be seen than any had escaped destruction.

It was empty, and Arthas felt guilt rising within him as they pressed on toward the fountain. 'I've been here before,' he said suddenly. 'with Falric, this place was a charming hamlet where we stayed the night at the inn, over there.' He motioned to a building which was now unrecognizable. 'Now the only thing which is certain is that everyone here is dead.'

He shook his head, unable to speak further. Jaina set a hand on his shoulder. 'Arthas, we should keep moving.'

'Yes, your right Jaina.' said Arthas 'Of course.' He turned to his men. 'We press on, the undead responsible for this are surely around here somewhere. We'll find them and put them down.' They continued westward first, deeper into the wood, partially because that was the direction where the fountain lay, but also because Arthas knew that south was the longer road, leading all the way to Anderhol. It would be best to check that way first.

Before long the trees seemed to close in about them as night fell. The hooting of owls could be heard as they ventured along the path, deeper and deeper into the woods. Suddenly out of the trees rushed skeletons, with curved blades and shields! Falric rallied his warriors and met them, and in the mass melee which ensued, there were no ranks or orders. Just combat.

Arthas slew three skeletons with a sweep of his hammer, as Jaina cast fireboats here and there, burning them. Her water elemental consumed a wave of them with water, as Falrics men hacked down many. The skeletons were not skilled combatants, and had no formal training, unlike the footmen of the Alliance, who hacked them down with lethal skill. After a few minutes of fighting the last skeleton fell, though several had been wounded.

'Come,' said Arthas 'the fountain lies just beyond those trees.'

They pressed onward and came to a line of stumps which marked the method by which the fountain had first been discovered by woodcutters. There they found a number of skeletons, however, they were quickly overwhelmed. Finally, Arthas and his men assembled before the fountain.

'This is the shrine that the old man spoke of,' said Arthas 'any man who drinks from these light blessed waters shall be healed.' Then stepping forward, he set the hammer down and cupped water within his hands, drinking of it gratefully. Instantly he found his strength restored, and his wounds healed. 'Drink my friends, and be restored.'

The men drank of the waters, and each one looked better and more alive than Arthas had seen them after the fact. And though it was absurd given the situation, they felt almost a sense of hope and joy. They still understood the grave nature of their quest, but the evils of this world no longer seemed quite so terrible.

They rested there for some time, as the night passed overhead.

'I should have been a farmer like my Father wanted,' said Falric suddenly. 'lousy pay, constant danger.' He looked up. 'Well, at least I get to hob nob with royalty.'

Arthas smiled at his friend's words. 'So it would seem.'

Jaina seemed oddly silent, quiet with contemplation. Such moods sometimes struck her, even in the carefree days in Dalaran which seemed so long ago. This one persisted longer than most, until before long the sun rose in the distance, and the sound of a cock crowing heralded the welcome coming of daylight.

'We'd best continue,' said Arthas after a moment. 'we've stayed here too long already. Prepare to move out men, we have work to do!'

As they departed the fountain they fell once more into a grim mood, as they came within sight of the burned out villages. Even so, Arthas and his men made their way to the southern road and started down it. Before long, they came to a granary, surrounded by freshly hewn grain. Behind a building was in flames. Yet there was a terrible sicky sweet smell in the air, and the granary loomed over them. The very walls themselves seemed somehow corrupted, and the flies which flew around it looked wrong somehow.

Jaina broke her silence at last. 'It's as though the ground around that granary is… dying.' she said, describing what they had seen before perfectly, though her fascination with the effect was somewhat worrying.

'Could the grain itself be plagued?' asked Arthas quickly.

'Let's hope not,' said Jaina 'those crates bear the regional seal of Anderhol, the distribution center for the northern boroughs. If this grain can spread the plague, there's no telling how many villages might be affected.'

A murmur of unease went through the soldiers. First the undead, then the dying terrain, now this, they needed an outlet for their aggression. 'Whatever is going on here,' said Falric 'it's not natural. We should burn it, milord.'

'Agreed.' said Arthas.

The men took brands and lit them in the flames of the inferno already in progress. Hurling them into the granary, they kindled a blaze which soon consumed the entire building. Within minutes the granary collapsed into dust, and all the plague grain within was consumed.

They headed south next and came into view of a scenic looking village. The grass here was green, and the buildings untouched. Yet countless undead stood within the center of town! They launched endless swaths of arrows as Arthas and his men rushed to meet them in battle. Several warriors of Lordaeron fell dead with black feathered arrows through their hearts as the lines met. In a rage for their first casualties, the men attacked with great wroth. As he hewed down a row of skeletons, Arthas glimpsed behind the enemy lines stood a group of men, clad in green and orange robes who cast infernal magics at them. Their eyes were glowing and they had an unholy look about them. Raising his hammer, Arthas summoned the light against them.

It burned them terribly, and a group of them fell screaming to die upon the ground. Even as their corpses hit the ground, the skeletons were overwhelmed, and Falric and his men fell upon the sorcerers, who raised skeletons from their comrade's corpses to bar their path! The fight was short and brutal, and finally, they all lay dead.

Arthas examined the scene. A brazier burned with a green flame, and signs of ritual half complete were everywhere. The grain was not yet corrupted, and making his way over to the windows, he saw a group of townspeople cowering. When they saw him, their faces lit up with hope. 'It's safe now,' he assured them 'tell any others that you find that the undead are destroyed. We're going to head further south and destroy anymore we can.'

'Bless you Prince Arthas.'

The memory of Strahnbrad made Arthas winced. As before, he was arriving in time only to save some of the populace. The rest… He shook his head and made his way over to Jaina, who was looking thoughtful. 'Ready to head out?'

'Yes, of course.' she said 'We'd best keep moving.'

They made their way by a forest path south, and then west into a village. Fortunately, this one was untouched. Most of the townsfolk were hiding within their homes, however. A group of Priests were standing guard. Their long ears and glowing eyes marked them as Elves, and their white robes were stained with dirt from recent travel.'Greetings, we are Priests from Quel'thalas.' said their Leader, bowing his head. 'We've come to help heal the land of this strange curse.'

'Greetings, we are Priests from Quel'thalas.' said their Leader, bowing his head. 'We've come to help heal the land of this strange curse.'

'As always, the generosity of the Elves is greatly appreciated.' said Jaina politely.

Arthas bit back a sarcastic statement. The High Elves had all but packed up and left the Alliance as soon as the orcs were defeated. Thousands of human and dwarves soldiers had fallen in gruesome fighting to save Quel'thalas, and now in Lordaeron's hour of need, what aid did they send? A few volunteer Priests. He reminded himself that even Lordaeron had not been aware how serious the problem was until recently. Yet he could not help but find the assistance provided by the High Elves extremely underwhelming.

'You should know that there is a granary warehouse at the far end of this village.' the Priest said to him. 'This evil blight may be evident there as well.'

'We'll check it out.' said Arthas quickly.

The pressed on westwards, now joined by the Priests. A new sense of determination fell over Arthas, for he and his comrades now realized that this was no longer a mission to investigate the villages. It had become a war, with very real stakes. This would not be the easy task Arthas had been hoping for.

They encountered a group of skeletal archers on the road ahead, however, they destroyed them, and pressed on up a hill. At the top was the edge of a cliff where two dwarves were standing at the height, clustered around a mortar which they endlessly fired. The sound echoed throughout the woods, as Arthas approached, covering his ears beneath the noise.

'What the hell are you men shooting at?' he asked, getting his answer as soon as he came within sight of below the cliff.

'We're blasting those damn skeletons, sir!' said a red bearded dwarf. 'This whole flaming village is crawling with em!' A cluster of skeletons were consumed in a shot from the mortar, as the others pressed forward up the hill. Falric and his men formed a line, as Jaina and the Priests came up behind them to support them with healing spells, fire, and water.

'Well I could use your help.' said Arthas, planting his hammer as the skeletons broke upon Falrics formation like water on a rock. 'We've got a warehouse to destroy at the end of town.' He raised his hammer and healed a man who became wounded by a skeleton as the enemy was overwhelmed. If the battles persisted like this, victory would be a simple matter. Despite his previous misgivings, Arthas had to admit that the Priests were proving themselves to be a very capable addition to his forces.

The path north of them begged his attention, however, he looked south. 'We'll deal with those pockets of skeletons to the south, then head back north.'

'We'll do our best.' said Falric.

Crossing south, they attacked the skeletons who stood on a small peninsula. After a brief and one-sided skirmish, the enemy were overwhelmed and destroyed. Arthur wondered how many undead had been killed by them over the course of the last few days? It had to be at least a thousand, and probably a bit more than that.

Satisfied that the flanks were secure, Arthas led his forces north into the heart of the village. There was a fountain there, which in any other circumstance would have been a cheering sight. Now it was merely a reminder of how dark days had become as they came to the northern edge of town.

There they beheld a group of black-cloaked cultists, led by a man with a horned deer mask, dressed all in black. Around them lay many corpses, and several ghouls stood by them as if as guards. At the side of the Leader was a thick book of unholy appearance, and he turned to see them.

'We've been discovered my brothers,' he said 'flee and continue with the operation.'

The black robed figures retreated, as a force of ghouls covered their escape. The Wizard lingered for a moment, and his eyes fell upon Jaina with a hard countenance. 'I'm sorry I can't stay and chat, but… duty calls.'

Then raising his staff, many corpses which lay dead on the ground arose in new unlife. A massive creature lumbered forward, and the stench of death was all around it. Its flesh was held together by many stitches, and his stomach was a gaping hole out of which gore poured. It had many arms, and its eyes were stupid and simple.

'That creature looks like it was sewn together from different corpses.' said Jaina in a fascinated tone, and she looked about ready to dissect it to find out how it operated.

'Let's study it after we kill it, okay.' replied Arthas, disturbed by her blasé nature.

The two forces charged towards each other and met in battle. The soldiers of Falric fought with skill, protecting themselves as the priests supported them. Jaina summoned two water elementals and rained a hail of brutal ice down upon the enemy ranks, slaying many. The abomination which they had witnessed before struck with vicious strength that knocked back Falric, shattering his shield. The Captain's arm hung limply as the abomination lumbered forward, however, Arthas leaped before him and struck the beast, as ice and fire rained down upon its back. The other undead were slain, and Falric's men surrounded the creature and began hacking at it from all sides, slashing its flesh with their swords.

Finally, the creature moaned painfully and collapsed dead to the ground.

The carnage was over, and no casualties had been taken. Arthas knew on some level that militarily the Alliance had been doing very well, for only a few men had died, and hundreds of their enemies had been slain. Yet he could take no satisfaction from the victory as they moved forward.

Several ghouls rushed forward to stop them, only to be hacked down as Arthas looked upon the warehouse far away. 'Destroy that warehouse!' he snapped. 'Now!'

The sound of mortar fire filled that air, as flaming branches were set to the grain filled warehouse. Jaina cast a hail of ice down upon the building, tearing its roof asunder as the support beams were hacked. Before long they had turned it into an inferno, and the building collapsed into a heap of rubble.

It was over. For now, at least.

Arthas breathed in, trying to control his emotions. The light was his strength, the light was his strength. He turned to where Falric was kneeling, trying not to scream and used the light. Falric's arm set itself as his armor and clothes were mended. Rising up, he saluted.

'What was that?' Arthas asked 'And who was that Wizard dressed in black?' He realized that the eyes of the men were upon them, and shifted uneasily under the burden of responsibility.

'I believe that the robed man was a necromancer.' said Jaina, sounding genuinely interested, as though she were reading some mystery novel where things were only just getting interesting. 'Obviously, he and his lackeys are behind this plague.'

'Well,' said Arthas 'its a good bet that we'll find him, and the answers we're looking for, in Anderhol.' That concluded their present mission really, for they were victorious. And as victories went it felt somewhat hollow. They had saved a great many people, but many had died before help had arrived. Was this to be his legacy? The hero who arrived too late all the time?

Even so, there were still decisions to be made within the wreckage of the warehouse. Arthas approached Falric, somewhat reluctant to give his order. 'Falric, I have a task for you.'

'Set it before me, and it shall be done.' said Falric automatically. Always reliable, to the last. Arthas had no doubt that if he asked Falric to take his own life for him, he would give it in a second. He crushed such morbid thoughts.

'Its not on the front line.' said Arthas 'I need to head out to Anderhol immediately. There is no telling what this necromancer might do if left to his own devices. I need you to get to Lord Uther, and get me reinforcements. He'll get the word out to everyone who needs to know about this.'

'You want me to bring back Lord Uther?' asked Falric, sounding surprised. 'Is it that dire!'

'No!' snapped Arthas with more venom than even he had expected. 'Look, I just... I can handle this. I don't need Uther to hold my hand through everything. Just go to him, tell him we have everything under control, and that we need reinforcements to continue the assault.'

'With respect milord,' said Falric 'as the head of your Royal Guard, my place is at your side. If we conscript the regional defenders into a single force, we should be able to deal with anything the Necromancer can muster.'

'And leave these villagers entirely defenseless?' said Arthas with a bitter smile. 'No, I will not risk my subjects. Jaina and I will head out to Anderhol now and do what we can. You bring in reinforcements, and we'll save the Kingdom.

Trust me.'

When he had been a boy, Arthas Menethil had taken a horse out in a snow storm. It had been the stupidest thing he'd ever done, and the horse had paid the price. Slipping upon the ice, it had broken its leg, and he'd been forced to slay it. Arthas himself might have frozen to death had Uther not come and saved him. The Prince owed the Old Paladin a great deal, and he was one of his dearest friends. But Arthas had no desire to repeat the experience.

The last thing Arthas Menethil wanted was to go down in history as the hapless Prince who Uther saved twice.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

Well, here it is, somewhat late, the third Chapter of Wrath of the Light. It's funny, I fully expected to have to double up chapters with this one, but I guess there is a lot more content in ravages of the plague then I expected.

One of the things I dislike most about Blizzard's treatment of Jaina, particularly in Rise of the Lich King, is how they degraded her from an intelligent and powerful individual, into a Disney Princess, who can't do anything without _her_ _Prince_. Good god World of Warcraft's writing sucks. Anyway, I decided to try and reverse this trend, by making Jaina into a slightly creepy individual. The only part of this chapter I don't like is the scene with Antonidas. The problem with it is that it really should have been three scenes, and while it works in the game, in a novel it would have taken up a great deal more time. As for the scene with the ogre clan, I did it because I wanted to make Jaina out to be a powerful sorcerer and a force to be reckoned with.

By and large, I think I succeed.

Oh, and because of the late hour of this update, I haven't had a chance to really edit this document. So I'm sure I'll go back and fix it late. For now, enjoy the chapter.

See you soon!

 **EDIT:  
** Finished a couple of incomplete sentences, and made a bunch of minor changes to the document. Overall this chapter was pretty strong, and I didn't see anything in need of updating.

 **DOUBLE EDIT:**

Fixed the grammar. At least I think I did, assuming this grammar checker isn't bogus.


	4. The Cult of the Damned

**Chapter Four: The Cult of the Damned**

There were more than just soldiers who ventured with them into Anderhol. Aside from a few cities, presided over by the Paladin order, Anderhol had long been a wild and untamed region of Lordaeron. Scattered clans of forest trolls and gnolls could be found within the region, and there were many dark leaved trees and fertile ground. Countless peasants who had lost their homes and fields to blight had taken everything they owned and followed Arthas and Jaina on their path into Anderhol. Others had retreated back towards Strahnbrad, and taken some of the militia with them. For their part, Arthas and Jaina led much of the militia ahead of the main column and soon came across a large clearing by a serene lake which glittered in the moonlike.

Yet it was marred by the sound of chanting voices, as there in a circle a group of black-robed men were chanting unholy words, and raising their hands in supplication to some unknown force. An abandoned gold mine stood before them, and dark magic was in the air, Arthas could smell it.

'Look,' said Jaina 'it's those cultists who were with the necromancer. What are they doing to that mine?'

'Let's not wait to find out.' said Arthas, hefting his hammer. 'Attack!'

Rushing forward, he brought round his hammer and struck the nearest cultist. The man reeled beneath the force of the blow as the maul crushed his skull. The others abandoned their work and fled into the shadows, pursued by the footmen. Several were hacked down as they ran, but others escaped.

'Damn these intruders,' said a cultist. 'they must not interfere with the master's plan.'

As the forces of Lordaeron filled the glade, Arthas turned to Jaina. 'Let's wait for Falric here. With those cultists creeping around I'd rather not head in there without backup.'

'I couldn't agree more.' said Jaina, looking to the remnants of the darkness.

Even as they spoke, the population of the village moved forward and began setting up shelters and the beginnings of a new home. It was truly amazing how swiftly they worked, felling trees and erecting buildings and preparing themselves to start anew. It filled Arthas with determination, and he resolved to wipe away all traces of the undead from this region.

Arthas arrayed his forces facing the direction the cultists had fled, then made his way after them alone. He kept his hammer close as he crossed the woods and eventually came within sight of a little farmstead. It was a skeleton of a building now, the beams were blackened with fire, and the roof had caved in. There was a woman standing by the exit, and she made for him. Even as he opened his mouth to call out to her, however, ghouls leaped from the wreckage and slashed her down mid stride. She was dead before she hit the ground.

In a rage, Arthas rushed at the ghouls and smashed its spine with a swing of his hammer. The second leaped through the air at him, yet he raised his weapon and summoned the light to his age. The ghoul was consumed in light and fell to pieces in moments. Arthas remained silent for a long moment, looking at the body before him. Then he moved on, feeling very grim. If he had only been a few days earlier, these people might still be alive. He moved further north and stopped short. The blighted ground stretched before him, the scent of carrion filled the air. Endless nightmarish buildings towered before him, almost unreal in their appearance and many monstrous skeletal creatures walked to and fro. The moans of the dead were audible. He had come to the edge of an undead bastion. Turning east, he was relieved to see that the blight did not extend across the river.

It seemed that he had arrived just in time. Then he remembered the woman who had died minutes before. Not soon enough, he reflected as he made his way back. As he passed through the close woods, he came to a camp. Taking cover behind a tree, he looked in to see a great number of rough and ready men, with axes and shields speaking.

'So about these undead,' said one 'what do we do about em?'

'Heh,' said the leader 'that's the beauty of our plan. We don't have to do anything. We'll let the knights in shining armor deal with it, and while the Alliance is busy fighting the undead, the villages will be easy pickings.'

A fury came over Arthas then. The cowards didn't care if all of humanity died so long as they could continue to raid and plunder. He remembered the village of Strahnbrad, whom he had saved from the Syndicate quite by accident. Then he recalled the village he had saved from bandits with Jaina, bandits who would have killed them all. He resolved that he would not let these bandits continue their trade.

He made his way back to camp, and not a moment too soon. For even as he came within sight of his forces, a vast host of undead rushed out of the trees! The footmen rushed to meet them, and battle was joined! Jaina summoned a water elemental, and rained frozen hail down upon the ghouls, killing dozens. Yet even as her spells settled necromancers raised their staffs, and the ghouls bodies arose as skeletons which rushed to meet the footmen. Priests healed them behind their lines, as the echo of mortar and gunfire went through the encampment. Smoke from dwarven blunderbuss's filled the air, and the scent of decay was everywhere.

Arthas waded into the fray, laying about him with his hammer to smash aside skeletons and ghouls. Raising his hammer, he burned a group of necromancers horribly with the light, and the men screamed and fell dead. The undead tide was turned back, and the footmen fell upon the Necromancers and slew them all. No one on their side had been killed.

'Well done men,' said Arthas 'now follow me quickly. There is a group of bandits we must destroy!'  
'Bandits?' asked Jaina 'I'm not sure that now is the best time for bandit hunting.'

'They will move on soon!' snapped Arthas 'I won't let my Kingdom be raided while I'm fighting with the undead! Now follow me!'

Perhaps reluctantly, his forces accompanied him through the forests as quickly as they could. Soon they burst out of the trees and fell upon the bandits even as they were packing up to leave. The fight was short and brutal, as the Alliance Soldiers surrounded the thugs and hacked them to pieces. Jaina cast fireboats which burned a man alive, while Arthas caved in a skull.

Finally, it was over. Arthas turned to his men, who were breathing from exertion. 'We have no time to rest!' snapped Arthas 'We must return to the defense of the refugees!'

There were grumbles amongst the men about this, but even so they obeyed and rushed through the forests with top speed until at last they found themselves once more before the refugees. Several days had passed by now, and the town was well underway. A barracks had been constructed at Jaina's urging in which to house the soldiers, and to Arthas' delight, he found that it was occupied. Falric had arrived, with a large force of footmen, riflemen, and mortars at that!

'Impeccable timing Falric, what news from Lord Uther?' asked Jaina.  
'I've enlightened him regarding our progress in the region so far.' said Falric 'And he has new orders from King Terenas. It seems that there is another task the King wishes achieved while we're here.' He passed the Prince a scroll, and Arthas took it up and unrolled it.

'…It says here my Father wants me to increase Lordaeron's income by establishing mining operations in the nearby highlands.' said Arthas, taken aback. The orders, which must have seemed quite reasonable in a throne room, now seemed utterly detached from reality. A life and death struggle was underway between the undead and the alliance, and his Father wanted him to go out of his way to establish a mining town.

Granted it was less unreasonable than going over the sea but…

'We don't have time for this.' he said bluntly.

'Actually,' said Jaina 'it may behoove us to make time. We have several villages worth of refugees coming in, and that will take a lot of land. Establishing a secondary location for a settlement may well be for the best.'

At that moment an alarm sounded, and the undead rushed at them out of the trees once more. The force this time was larger than it had been, but likewise the Alliance had increased its numbers. Arthas and Falric led the charge into the enemy ranks, while Jaina cast spells from behind. Riflemen gunned down necromancers as mortars launched barrages that destroyed great swaths of ghouls as they advanced.

After a few terrible hours of fighting, the undead lay defeated.

'This is absurd!' snapped Arthas 'I will not busy myself with colonization while the undead destroy us all!' He turned to his soldiers. 'Men, follow me! We strike at the undead bastion north of here! We will put it to the sword, and annihilate it utterly! Only when its ashes have stained the ground will we concern ourselves with our secondary objectives!'

They marched north in great force and came to stand before the opening in the trees, leading to the Bastion. Arthas motioned to Falric. 'Falric, have the mortars launch their shots at the enemy buildings. When the enemy is forced to rush forward for battle, we will defend the mortars while they finish the work.'

'As you wish milord.' agreed Falric quickly.

The mortars readied themselves and began launching a barrage at the ziggurats which stood topped with dark crystals. Before long an onslaught of undead charged from the bastion to meet them, and once again the Alliance met them in combat. Jaina unleashed a flurry of ice spells upon them, while her firebolts burned many ghouls to cinder. Arthas smashed ghoul after ghoul, wielding the light to heal his warriors and slay necromancers. Yet it was difficult, for the ziggurats fired bolts of magic at all who came within range, and often times during the fray a footman would stray too close and be the victim of a barrage. Several brave men died in the ensuing battle, slain before they could withdraw.

Even so, the mortars endless barrage took huge chunks out of the ziggurats, and before long the buildings exploded in a flash of green. It was then that the mortars turned their attention to blasting other buildings, while still more undead rushed forward to meet them. So it went, with the Alliance advancing little by little without end. The combat lasted more than half a day, with exhaustion creeping up on everyone involved. On and on it went, with Jaina's powerful magics used in tandem with dwarven technology to lay waste to the entire fortress.

At last, it was over. The enemy was utterly defeated, the cultists were slain and the blighted ground was now without structures on it. Even so, the trees were blackened beyond recall, and the land itself marred by the unholy energies which had seeped into it. Arthas rested on his hammer, breathing heavily, before hearing footfalls behind him.

Turning around suddenly he pulled back his hammer-

'Jaina!' he said 'Don't… don't sneak up on people like that.'

'Sorry,' she said 'look I think it's safe to say that we've dealt with the threat. Now we have to attend to the refugees.'

'Yes,' said Arthas 'you are right of course.' He turned to Falric. 'Captain I want you and the majority of the forces to remain here and ensure no further undead arrive. Jaina and I will scout out the eastern side of the river, and make preparations for the founding of a new town.'

Arthas and Jaina made their way south, then east to cross the river slowly. As soon as they reached the other side, however, they were greeted with axes hurled from the trees. Swiftly Arthas and Jaina pulled back. 'Forest Trolls,' said Arthas 'they leave us no choice. We'll have to fight them.'

The two of them rushed over the hill to meet the forest trolls. Arthas summoned the light around him to shield himself from all harm as Jaina summoned a water elemental. Axes bounced off of Arthas' shield as he met the Troll leader head-on and struck his head off with his hammer. The next one fell to Jaina's firebolts, while the third was slain by the water elemental. The rest fled before their might.

Moving a bit south, Arthas saw a camp of gnolls. They made no outright hostile action, and so Arthas and Jaina passed them by. Heading north, they found themselves by a river, and there they saw many rock golems walking too and fro. Jaina and Arthas slipped by them, and up the hilltop towards a plateau. There Jaina halted, and set her staff into the ground, as she looked at a great mound of white rock.

'I'm sensing a great deal of natural metals, ore and gold and silver, its all here.' said Jaina 'this would make an excellent place for a mining town.'  
'We'll head back to base and make the arrangements then.' decided Arthas.

They crossed back without event and found that the blackened landscape which had before been everywhere had reverted to simple flat brown. The trees remained tainted, but it seemed that in time grass would return to the place. An outpost had been set up there, and Falric greeted him.

'Milord, I was just about to send out someone to look for you.' he stated 'What news?'

'We've found a location to the east of here,' said Arthas 'it should serve as an ideal spot for a new fortified town. Get together some men, and have them escort the refugees there to begin creating a new mining town. Tell them to avoid confrontations with the gnolls and golems if they can. I want it to have some farms as well, and a barracks for defense.'

'Actually, if you could establish some kind of dialogue with the gnolls it might prove mutually beneficial.' put in Jaina.

'Of course sir.' said Falric 'What will you do?'

'I'm going to lead a force to the north of here, and search the nearby towns.' said Arthas 'Though I don't expect I'll be able to find anyone still alive, I have to make the attempt. You stay here and ensure nothing threatens the new villages.'

'As you wish milord.' said Falric.

Arthas and Jaina took a large contingent of soldiers and made their way northeast across a river until they reached a town which had been reduced to a blackened corpse. Flames could be seen on the watch towers, still burning, and the buildings had been ransacked. An aura of death was everywhere as they walked through the streets.

'As I suspected,' said Arthas, feeling sick.

'Where are all the bodies?' asked Jaina as they made their way onward. 'There should be some around here, but I can't see any. What do you think Arthas?' She sounded genuinely curious, and not in the least bit disturbed.

'I don't know,' said Arthas.

They reached the village square, which stood in the shadow of three grainary above them. In front of the granary's stood vast mounds of corpses, piled high. A group of ghouls stood before the corpses, feasting upon flesh and blood and bone with obvious relish as blood dripped down their gums. Watching over them was a man, wearing a horned helm, and holding a staff. He turned around to reveal a black beard and sunken features.

It was the necromancer from before. 'Hello again children,' he said in a fatherly tone. 'I am Kel'thuzad, and I've come to deliver a warning. Leave well enough alone. Your curiosity will be the death of you.'

'Kel'thuzad?' asked Jaina 'You were exiled from the Kirin Tor for unholy experiments!'

'You have a talent for stating the obvious child,' noted Kel'thuzad. 'it does not become you.'

'Are you responsible for this plague, necromancer?' asked Arthas, fury in his tone. 'Is this cult you're doing?'

'Yes,' said Kel'thuzad 'I ordered the Cult of the Damned to distribute the plagued grain. But the full credit is not mine. I serve the Dreadlord Mal'ganis. He commands the scourge that will cleanse this land, and establish a paradise of eternal darkness.'

'And what exactly is this scourge meant to cleanse?' asked Arthas.

'Why the living of course,' replied Kel'thuzad 'seek him out at Stratholme if you need further proof.' Then raising his staff he cast a spell, and the corpses arose from the pile, twisting and becoming skeletal monsters, which surged forward towards them.  
Arthas rushed forward towards them and his men followed, as Jaina summoned her water elemental. As the carnage waged, the Alliance forces proved more than a match for the undead, cutting them down with rage. Jaina destroyed many with her spells, while Arthas hewed his way through them, tracking the necromancer.

Yet the necromancer slipped away in the fighting, and when the dust settled Kel'thuzad was nowhere to be found. Arthas looked around, then moved swiftly to the granary and kicked in the door with one foot. He looked inside, and saw only two undead rats, tearing each other to shreds. Why would the necromancer resurrect rats? What did it mean? Jaina came up behind him, and a sudden anger flashed across her eyes as she raised one hand. A bolt of fire shot out, and they burst into flames before turning to ashes.

'All the grainary's are empty.' said Arthas, feeling empty. 'The shipments have already been sent out. We're too late.'

The men looked around and began to murmur among themselves. Arthas knew he had to do something quickly. Otherwise morale would falter, and all could be lost. 'There is still time,' he said 'we still have time to stop the caravans. For now, our priority is to slay Kel'thuzad and whatever minions remain to him so that he cannot create any more of these monsters.' He raised his hammer. 'Ready your swords men, we follow the necromancer! He will die by my hammer!'  
There was a roar of approval, filled with enthusiasm. Arthas led his forces away from the blackened town, and into the woods. The stench of decay was here, and he followed it. As it grew stronger, he tried to prevent himself from vomiting as they crossed through the woods.

Finally, they came across a camp. And saw before them countless abominations like the one they had fought before. They numbered nearly a hundred, and they were supported by hundreds of ghouls. Behind them Kel'thuzad stood at the back, leaning upon his staff with a welcoming smile on his face. The men paused, intimidated. However, Arthas looked to them and raised his hammer. 'For my Father the King!' He roared, and they charged towards their enemies.

They met the abominations in battle. Ice shot from the skies to tear ranks of them apart, as dwarven riflemen shot down others. Arthas smashed one in half with his hammer, as a number of unlucky footmen were cut down. Other footmen were overwhelmed by ghouls and devoured. Yet Jaina threw fire and ice in such intensity that it consumed everything in her path. Her water elemental tore the beasts apart as they steadily cleaved their way onwards. A footman ran a ghoul through before leaping in front of a priest to protect him with his shield. A rifleman gunned down two more ghouls as they came at him, before retreating behind the footmen.

Yet even as the advantage was gained even more undead came out of the trees and joined the fray. On and on the battle waged, as wave after wave of undead rushed to join against the weakening attackers and were destroyed. Then, just as Arthas was about to retreat, there came a call, and Falric came over the hill his sword in hand. With him marched a vast host of warriors who joined their brethren in battle.

The defense was swept away, and Arthas rushed forward towards the necromancer who remained silent as he approached. He said an did nothing, as Arthas held aloft his hammer and brought it around! A bolt of fire shot through the air and pierced Kel'thuzad through the gut, while Arthas smashed him in the chest, piercing his heart. Kel'thuzad stepped back, as Arthas pulled back his hammer for another strike, and fell to one knee.  
'…Naive fool,' said Kel'thuzad 'my death will make little difference in the long run. For now, the scourging of this land… begins…' He spot out blood and collapsed to the ground, lying dead on the ground. Arthas turned to see his men finishing off the last of their enemies. Hundreds, no, thousands of undead had died upon the field of battle these past weeks.  
Victory was theirs. So why didn't Arthas feel like a victor?

* * *

 **Authors Note:**  
Well, this chapter was a long time delayed. I apologize for it profusely. The truth is that ever since I finished Mercy of the Damned, I've been a bit sick of Warcraft as a genre. I was taking a break. I actually had this chapter half written months ago, but I could never be bothered to finish it. I lost the thing and was never able to find it until today.  
So here it is, and here is to hoping that the next chapter comes at a more convenient time.  
Please review, it really helps me stay motivated to know that people are interested in my story.

 **Edit:**

Fixed a serious issue where the formatting for the text got messed up. I really hate that glitch. My thanks to the person who informed me of it in the comments section.

 **DOUBLE EDIT:**

Altered a fight scene, and made a few other changes. Nothing too substantial really.

 **TRIPLE EDIT:**

Edited Grammar to work better.


	5. March of the Scourge

**Chapter Five: March of the Scourge**

They made good time as they travelled onwards from the place where Kel'thuzad had met his end. Falric stayed behind at Arthas' suggestion to arrange for the burning of all corpses, to ensure they could not rise again. Behind him the forces of the Alliance were mustering for war. The villagers watched the show, expressions of fear on their faces. For his part, Arthas could only hope that there would be some time to breath, and prepare for the next battle.

Finally, they rounded a corner and came upon the welcome sight of Harthglen. The village, almost a town, was quite pleasant as far as sights went, even at night. The windows were lit with many candles, and they made their way towards the town.

'Harthglen finally,' said Jaina 'I could use some rest.'

As they neared, however, Arthas saw a vast host of soldiers drilling in the town square. Riflemen fired at targets, while infantry prepared themselves for war and practiced marching in armor. 'It looks like they're preparing for battle…' said Arthas as they came into view. 'There is Marwynn.'

Marwynn rushed forward. 'Prince Arthas,' he said 'overnight a vast force of undead warriors arose and began attacking villages at random! Now it's heading this way!'

So much for rest. 'Damn it,' said Arthas 'Jaina, I'll stay here to protect the village. Go as quickly as you can and tell Lord Uther whats happened.'

'But-' she began.

'Go Jaina,' said Arthas 'every second counts.' There was no time. No time to rest.

Reluctantly, she moved away and summoned her magic around her, teleporting herself away. Arthas then set about preparing the defenses, arranging for the forces to begin setting up defenses. As he did so he had a terrible sense that something had gone wrong, yet he did not know what. Hours passed, and the defenses were prepared. Towers were erected by the townspeople to defend the approaches to the town. Every man and strong lad able to bear arms was drafted to fight in battle, and still, nothing happened.

Then he saw them, a collection of crates which lay abandoned, emptied. Bearing the regional symbol of Anderhol. 'Wait…' said Arthas 'what did those crates contain?'

'Just a grain shipment from Anderhol,' said Marwynn 'there is no need to worry milord. It's already been distributed amongst the villagers.'

Horror overtook him, rooting him in place. 'Oh no…'

As if by the cue of some wicked force, the people of Harthglen became to choke and wheeze, falling on their knees as they threw up. Their eyes rolled back in their head as they slowly arose in a new form, as green mist filtered into the town. The soldiers backed away as the once healthy villagers now advanced on them, hands grasping like claws as they moaned.

'The plague was never meant to simply kill my people.' said Arthas, realization dawning on him. 'It was meant to turn them… into the undead! DEFEND YOURSELVES!'

At his words, the men of Lordaeron drew their swords and charged into battle. Some were slain because they hesitated, others warded off the enemies attacks long enough for their more ruthless friends to arrive. The villagers rushed at them from every house, children, men and women hungering for flesh. Arthas smashed a zombie woman's skull in, then sent a surge of light to put a gang of boys out of their misery.

Marwynn backpedaled as a women rushed at him with a butcher's knife. He stepped aside and brought round his sword to slice off her head.

Though horrifying, it was not a difficult battle. The men of Lordaeron, once no longer surprised, quickly slaughtered the villagers who had been attacking them. Dwarvish Riflemen shot down the creatures, and finally, the soldiers stood in an empty village, surrounded by the corpses of those they were meant to protect.

'What… what do we do?' asked a soldier.

Arthas wanted to scream. He wanted to cry, to lament the deaths of so many innocent. Yet he forced himself to composure and set a hand on his shoulder. 'Steel yourselves men!' said Arthas, trying to sound bold and in control. 'Man the defenses, the army is still coming! It must be halted here, or other villages will suffer the same fate as Harthglen!'

'Yes sir…' said the soldier, before rushing away.

Arthas turned to Marwynn and saw him kneeling on the ground by the dead women. 'On your feet, Marwynn, we have work to do. Your men need you.'

'…I was sweet on this girl.' said Marwynn 'This morning she offered me a sweet roll, I'd already eaten and I wasn't hungry, but I almost ate it just to make her happy. Now… now I've killed her…'

The soldiers of Lordaeron were fed from a different grain supply from the people they guarded. It was a precaution set in place by Lord Antonidas during the second war when rumors of grain poisoned by the Shadow Council were being taken seriously. Yet there was no time for thought.'That was not her.' said Arthas 'That was a monster which took her place. If there was anything left of her inside that body, then you've freed her. Now get on your feet! You are a Captain of Lordaeron! Was my choice in you misplaced?!'

'That was not her.' said Arthas 'That was a monster which took her place. If there was anything left of her inside that body, then you've freed her. Now get on your feet! You are a Captain of Lordaeron! Was my choice in you misplaced?!'

'No sir.' said Marwynn, rising up. 'I'll see to the defense.'

'Good,' said Arthas 'and send out scouts. I want to know if any more of these grain shipments are being sent to the villages. You understand, scout the landscape. And have them warn anyone they find about the grain, and tell them to come seek shelter here. We might save some people yet.'

'As you wish milord.'

Then Arthas was left alone, watching as the off-duty soldiers began to arm themselves with sword and shield. Observing as the priests of the light who had accompanied him took their places behind the defenses that had been erected. Suddenly his own words came back to haunt him? Was his Fathers trust in him misplaced? He had done everything he could, and yet it had not been enough to save Harthglen. Always he arrived too late. He'd been too late to save Strahnbrad. He'd been too late to save the hostages. Too late to prevent the grain shipments from being sent out.

Too little too late.

He shook his head. He could still do this. He could still stop the undead from destroying any more villages. He just had to hold them in place long enough for Uther to arrive with reinforcements. He could do this. He had to do this. To clear his thoughts, Arthas took to scouting the region, seeking some sign of the enemy force. As he walked the lands, they seemed oddly tranquil. But it was not a pleasant tranquility. Not a bird was singing. Not a squirrel or deer or chipmunk could be seen. They had left this place, fleeing the wrath to come. Eventually, he waded through a river and came to a cage, where a man was trapped within it.

'Please good Prince,' said the man 'free me.'

Swinging his hammer, Arthas struck the lock and broke it open before helping the man out. Drawing out his water flask, he offered it to the man who drank of it.

'Thank you for helping me,' said the man warily. 'you must stop them! They're mad!'

'Who is?' asked Arthas quickly.

'The cult of the damned,' said the man 'they… they didn't seem that bad at first. They helped the old, the starving and the decrepit, the sort of people who society rejected. All those blasted Lords looking down on us, and taking our food to feed their armies for wars we don't care about. Taking our sons to fight and die in their name.

I… I wanted to see what it was all about. Just curious you know. Kel'thuzad… he seems to warp reality. When you speak with him, all the horrors and plans he suggests seem to make sense. Then Mal'ganis appeared, and once that happened we became monsters.

The grain… they are planning to use the grain shipments to turn the villages that don't cooperate into undead! You've got to stop them! I tried to get away to warn Lord Uther but… they caught me and left me in that cage.'

Had this man only evaded the Cult of the Damned, so much death would have been avoided. Then again, had the Lords of the Alliance been less unkind to the unfortunates the cult might have never come about. Arthas had been aware that there were Lords who were cruel to their subjects, but it had never been before his eyes. Some of them must have been very cruel indeed to drive them to this end.

Some Paladins might have killed the man for ever associating with the darkness. However Arthas felt pity for him, and more than that he wondered if he might have been like him, had he lived a different life. 'Because you have repented, I will spare your life, and say nothing more of this. Run to Harthglen, and don't look back.'

'Thank you Prince Arthas,' said the man.

As the man departed, Arthas looked around him. There was still green in these lands. But it was waning, and he could sense a terrible darkness just beyond sight. The tips of the trees were blackened, and the scent of death was slowly becoming inescapable. He made his way back to camp, and as he did so he saw a group of people in the distance. For a moment he dared hope they might have escaped and ran for them. Yet as he approached they clutched their faces and screamed before their screams turned to moans and they became undead monsters with slavering jaws and blood red eyes.

Arthas smashed one aside with his hammer, before summoning the light to obliterate them.

Was there no one who had escaped the plagued grain? He returned to camp and found Marwynn waiting for him. The Captain saluted. 'Milord, we've managed to gather a number of people from neighboring villages. We've secured them in the town hall. Some of them were infected, however, and…

My men took matters into their own hands.'

'What do you mean?' asked Arthas.

'They… purged the infected.' said Marwynn.

'I see.' said Arthas 'There is nothing to do about it now. We need every able man ready to fight. Go to the villagers, and begin recruiting those willing to fight for their families as footmen.'

'Yes milord,' said Marwynn 'yet there is something else…'

'What is it?' asked Arthas.

'A group of elven sorceresses have arrived,' said Marwynn 'they wished to speak with you.' He motioned to a group of robed women, clad in flowing garments, then departed. Their leader was levitating over the ground and approached Arthas. She was a beautiful elven women, with long brown hair and clad in a low cut blouse.

'Archmage Antonidas has sent us to assist you in defending Harthglen.' she stated 'What'll be hot shot?'

Arthas narrowed his eyes at her casual manner. 'Take a position and support my soldiers at the southern and western entrances to town.'

'What a good idea,' she mused as she departed. 'once again it's up to the elves.'

The elves? Where the hell were they when the Alliance needed them?! It was all Arthas could do not to say as much. Instead, he turned and began to wait. It was the waiting that was the worst part. Time was ticking by, slowly but surely, and he could do nothing but wait. On the hours stretched, as soldiers looked upon empty streets and survivors huddled in silent terror.

Nothing happened.

Nothing happened.

'Prince Arthas!' cried a soldier from the southern exit. 'The undead forces have arrived!'

It was almost a relief to see the hordes of corpses walking towards them. Almost.

'Hold your ground!' cried Arthas 'We are the chosen of the light, we shall not fall!' And he rushed to their aid. The first wave of undead was easily repulsed, they were slowed by the elves, and showered with arrows and guns. Those few that reached the front lines were hewn to pieces by the swordsmen who awaited them.

Yet it was only the beginning. Another assault was launched, this one from the west and with them came abominations. Necromancers raised the corpses of those who fell in the assault, prolonging the combat as still more enemies charged from the south. Arthas raced from one entrance to another, rallying his men, healing the wounded and striking down the creatures wherever they came.

On and on they came, and Arthas and his men fought on. Suddenly the carcasses of animals began to fall amongst them, crushing several soldiers beneath them. Mechanical devices were launching them from behind the enemy forces! Mustering his strength, Arthas charged forward, hewing his way through his enemies with all his might. He summoned the light and burned a group of necromancers to cinder before coming upon the devices as they were about to launch.

Bringing round his hammer, he broke one to pieces, and then his men were behind him, hacking them down. At last there was a lull in the fighting. Yet it was not over. Arthas could sense that the darkness that hung over this place had not retreated. He could hear the voices of ghouls on the wind. He could smell the scent of decay everywhere.

And then the scouts came back.

'Prince Arthas,' said the scout 'we've spotted an undead caravan carrying a large load of plagued grain.'

No. Not this time. 'That caravan must be stopped before it reaches the outer villages!' said Arthas, a grim resolve growing in his tone.

'But milord,' said Marwynn 'we scarcely fended off this assault! We cannot stop both it and the army!'

Suddenly a sense of serenity, of control, fell over Arthas. The darkness did not seem so great, and a confidence grew within him. 'Marwynn,' said Arthas 'take charge of the men in my absence. I will deal with the caravan myself.'

'But-'

Arthas did not heed him. He raced away on foot, guided by some force he scarcely understood. Slipping into the heart of the woods darkness, he made his way through. And it was suddenly as if he could see everything. One long chain of events leading from time immaterial, stretching from the beginning of the universe to its end. He was meant to be here. This was his time.

He had to do this. He must do this, and prove that his Father's, that Uther's trust in him had not been misplaced.

As he walked, he saw there a undead fortress of black spires that scraped the clouds and eerie green lights. The moans of the damned issued forth from its buildings. From its pits and caverns issued forth great hosts of undead. Corpses were piled high, newly made and ancient, and cultists were working their magic on them, bringing them back as unholy beasts.

He could not deal with these now. He would fight them later.

Arthas pressed on and finally came to the King's road, having cut across country to reach it. The caravan was coming along it, heavily guarded by many monsters. Yet he would not let them stop him. He felt the light burning within him, and he charged forward.

'For my Father, the King!' he roared as he surged forward, hammer in hand. Light surrounded him, and an abominations cleaver broke upon his shield. In return, he struck it down with one blow, before seeing to the others.

The undead rushed to stop him. They made a wall of bodies to halt his advance as the caravan continued his grim mission. He smashed them one by one, without mercy or pity. Then he smashed the skeletons which arose from their corpses, before finishing the necromancer who summoned them.

'Faster my brethren!' cried an acolyte. 'If we lose the shipment, the master will have our hides!'

Arthas reached them as they rounded a bend. He hacked and slashed his way through them, summoning the light around him to burn them. To burn the grain, and as the unholy magics within it was exposed it caught flame and withered away. He turned over the wagons, and slew their drivers. He sent the beasts of burden running away and finally turned to a cultist cowering beneath him.

'You are past redemption.' he said, before striking off his head.

He didn't feel any better for his victory. He had done the work of an army by himself, yet all he felt was bitterness. As the light departed him, he felt tired and quickly fading.

'I just pray that the grain hasn't reached any more villages.' He said to himself.

Then he made his way back to Harthglen.

It took him a little over an hour to return, and he counted every second of it. He wondered if he would find it overrun, his soldiers slain for his absence. It was a small respite that it still stood tall. Several of the watch towers had been broken down, and many corpses lay before the broken gates. Yet his men were still there.

A ragged cheer came from them as he arrived. Marwynn approached. 'Prince Arthas, we feared we could not hold out much longer without you. What of the caravan?'

'The caravan is destroyed.' said Arthas 'Take heart captain. Uther will be here soon.' That brightened the faces of his soldiers.

Uther. The name stung a bitter note in his mind. This would be Uther's victory wouldn't it? That is how it would be remembered, with Arthas as little more than a sidekick. Would he never escape his mentor's shadow? He pushed such thoughts away, they did not become a paladin. Besides, he would be held in high regard just for keeping control of things. This would still be Arthas' campaign, Uther would just be the one to deal the finishing blow.

Then the enemy came back. And this time in far greater numbers. The ghouls came first, and they were shredded, yet there were always more of them! Then, as the line began to strain, abominations came lumbering out of the countryside and attacked them with wrath. The line began to crumble, sustained only by the arrows and guns of the Alliance marksmen.

'Marwynn!' called Arthas as he cast a spell of healing. 'Bring the defenders from the southern gate to help us here!'

'That would leave us unprotected-'

'Just do it!'

Marwynn obeyed, and soon fresh forces arrived to aid in the defense. Little by little the enemy was driven back. Then, all of a sudden, ice filled their veins, as a skeletal figure appeared. It raised one hand, and with a flick of its wrist froze a group of footmen down to their marrow.

He had read about such creatures only in legend. A Lich.

Arthas knew in that moment that he must act, or all would be lost. He charged forward through the lines, hewing his way through the undead and leaped toward the Lich, bringing down his hammer. The creature sent forth a chain which wrapped around the weapon and yanked it from Arthas' grip. It sent a bolt of power towards him.

Arthas summoned the light to defend himself from the blast, then returned with his own surge of light. The creature reeled, wounded, then made a motion with his hand. Suddenly darkness surrounded him, and Arthas screamed in pain as he found his body subjected to the rigors of time. His hands became pale and clawlike, as he shuddered with unnatural age. The weight of his armor was terrible.

The undead closed in around him. Yet the light filled him with strength, enough strength to finish things. He gripped his hammer and yanked upon it. The chains shattered! And bringing it around, he crushed the Lich's skull, before striking it again for good measure. An unnatural scream echoed and it was gone.

Arthas stumbled in exhaustion, and the undead were upon him!

Yet Marwynn and his soldiers came, hewing their way to them. They formed a wall of shields around their Prince and helped him to the safety of the defenses. The undead, weakened and disheartened by the loss of their master, fled. Arthas fell to his knees in exhaustion, realizing how close he had been to death there.

'Is it over?' asked Marwynn.

Then there came a cry from the south. 'The undead! The undead have broken through!'

Arthas wanted to stay down. His body demanded he stay down. His spirit was wavering, yet by sheer determination, he arose. His men needed direction, it was too late to hold the perimeter now. 'Fall back to the town square!' he cried 'We'll make our stand there!'

His men fled from their position, abandoning the defenses in a route as they rushed to defend the town hall. As they reached its gates, Marwynn had only a few moments to reorder them into lines, before the enemy were upon them.

Zombies, ghouls, abominations, necromancers, even acolytes had come for this final attack. They died in droves, and always there were more to replace them. Abomination after abomination came and died, and was trod over by yet more of them. The line fell back, breaking apart, as Arthas stared in mute horror.

'This is a nightmare…' he said 'their numbers seem limitless…'

His pride, his sense of duty, his honor, they all demanded he arise once more to save his men. To rally them to a victory to be remembered for all time. Yet it was not enough. His strength was spent. The light was waning in his heart. He was on his knees, scarcely able to think as his men fell around him.

The undead seemed to be focusing only on his men. He watched as they were driven away from him. A soldier fought bravely before Arthas, hacking and slashing to defend his Prince, and finally was cut down. A group of ghouls made its way towards him, snarling hungrily at the body of his fallen protector.

He had to do something. Anything! Anything but just stand here!

'Light…' he said 'give me strength.'

The light gave him strength, filling him once more with power. He swung his hammer, and with one stroke scattered the ghoul's bones across the battlefield. He was going to die here, far from help, yet he now meant to die fighting.

'For Lordaeron!' called Uther 'For the King!'

And here he came. Uther rushed down the path Arthas had come moments before, followed by a whole legion of knights. Light poured from the old Paladin, sending the undead cowering before them. Though the forces of darkness outnumbered the reinforcements by perhaps a third, one could never tell.

The knights of Lordaeron carved their way through the forces of undead, hewing them down with ease. More came to halt the forces of light, but they were helpless to stop them. Uther led his forces to glorious victory, for none could withstand him!

'Uther!' called Arthas as he healed a wounded man. 'Your timing couldn't have been better!'

Uther came to a halt by him on horseback. 'Don't celebrate yet, son. This battles far from over.'

The words tempered his joy, and Arthas resolved to fight.

Yet in truth, the battle was over. All the surrounding regions had been emptied in the assault upon Harthglen. The forces of Lordaeron descended upon the fortresses of undeath, ready for a terrible battle. Instead, they found only cowaring cultists and empty structures. Every corpse had been used in every graveyard for miles around. The undead bastions were swiftly put to the sword, broken stone by stone apart, and all who were found within were slain.

Finally, they regrouped at Harthglen.

Arthas looked at the fruits of his victory. Harthglen was empty. Most of the townsfolk were dead. Those few fortunate enough to both not eat the plagued grain, and survive their neighbor's infection were a traumatized and terrified lot. Scouts had returned, telling tales of empty graveyards, of empty houses whose owners had all become undead. There were a string of villages who had survived unscathed during the battle, thanks to Arthas' efforts, yet it might take a century before the population reached its former levels.

He looked at the corpses, of men and monster along. Men he had failed to save. People he should have protected. He had failed, completely and utterly. And once again, his pride reminded him, he had been saved by Uther Lightbringer. It was as if he had never left that blizzard he'd gotten caught in all those years ago, still standing over the corpse of his horse. He was never going to escape Uther. The man's legacy was too great, his inner light any and all the accomplishments his student could ever achieve.

It didn't matter how hard Arthas tried. He couldn't escape the fact that history would remember him as the wise King that Uther trained. The Prince who continued his Fathers legacy of benevolence and wisdom. The tag along kid who became the hero he was meant to be because everyone expected him to be one! He would never be given anything of his own, why would he?! Even the choice to court Jaina had been wrested from his control.

He, Arthas Menethil, was the hapless Prince that Uther had to save twice. An impotent fury that had been growing in him for years now made itself known to him so that he scarcely noticed Jaina and Uther approaching him. Yet he mastered it, he controlled it, he-

'I'm surprised you kept things together as long as you did, lad.' said Uther 'If I hadn't arrived just then-' It was perhaps the worst thing Uther could have said.

He unleashed it. 'Look, I did the best I could, Uther!' snapped Arthas 'If I'd had a legion of knights riding at my back I would've-'

'Now is not the time to be choking on pride!' said Uther firmly. 'What we faced here was only the beginning. The undead ranks are bolstered every time one of our own falls in battle.'

The beginning, the beginning! This… butchery was only the beginning! 'Then we should strike at their leader!' snapped Arthas as he turned his back on him. 'I'll go to Stratholme and kill Mal'ganis myself if I have to!' He presumed that Jaina had filled Uther in on the details.

Uther came up behind him and set one hand on his shoulder. 'Easy lad, brave as you are you can't hope to defeat a man who commands the dead all by yourself.'

'Then feel free to tag along Uther,' said Arthas 'I'm going. With, or without you.'

And he marched away alone. No one would take this victory from him. Not this time.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

Wow! This chapter was a long time coming, wasn't it? I have a confession to make here, I didn't actually do a playthrough of the mission. You don't actually destroy any bases unless you are really, _really_ good at the game, which I am not, and the only other choice is whether you stop the grain caravan.

Instead I tried to focus on Arthas' character, and the reasons why he lashed out the way he did. I hope I succeeded. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to edit the previous chapters of this fic to fit my standards.


	6. The Prince, the Prophet, and the Culling

**Chapter Six: The Prince, the Prophet, and the Culling**

The ogres of Lordaeron were angry. Their population had suffered greatly during the first and second wars, and so for a time they had made a point of avoiding direct combat with the humans. They left them alone in the hope that they would be left alone until the humans had dealt with the other threats. However the humans hated them, as they hated all who had once dwelled on the world of Draenor. When a drunken fool had stumbled into their camp, and been killed, word had spread amongst the weak villagers.

Then she appeared. The sorceress came as they rested, cloaked in blue and wielding terrible magics. Calling upon water elementals, she slew all who stood in her way. All the warriors of the clans to the south had been wiped out, save one who appeared later, shaking with terror. The women and children had fled by stealth far to the north, to the lands around Harthglen where a mighty Ogre Strongman dwelled.

He gave them shelter, a new home. His warriors thirsted for revenge, yet he bided his time. He sensed that the humans were soon to have the tide of the world turned against them. And sure enough, the dead began to walk, a terrible plague swept through their lands. The ogres took satisfaction from the suffering of their enemies and waited safe and sound as a terrible battle raged.

The humans were victorious, yet while their forces were resting, the ogres made their move against their villages. They would avenge their losses tenfold.

* * *

It was a tranquil little village, thus far spared from the bloodshed of the wars. Here Arthas passed through alone, still stewing over his humiliation. Even as he did so, however, a soldier rushed up to him.

'Prince Arthas, ogres have come down from the hills!' cried a Militiaman. 'It appears their looking for a fight!'

Arthas hoisted his hammer as he saw a force of ogres approaching the village. Their leader was massive, a sign of age, and was clad in black armor and wielded a spiked club. The militia around him looked to him to lead them, terrified. 'And we will give them one! For Lordaeron!'

Arthas led the footmen in a charge against the ogres and the two sides met in mortal combat. Two footmen were crushed beneath the blows of an ogre. Another was bashed aside, his shield shattered and his arm broken. Arthas healed his wounds, then brought round his hammer to crush the skull of an ogre. A footman ducked between an ogres legs and hamstrung him as he passed by. As the beast fell to land with a crash, another footman cut his head off.

As the fray raged on, the ogres' leader struck again and again, and with each strike, he killed a man. Arthas rushed towards him and caught the ogres club mid fall with his hammer. The air seemed to warp around the collision, and both of them recoiled. The ogre struck at Arthas, who stepped aside and struck him in the chest. The blow rang against the armor and sent his enemy staggering back.

Leaping into the air, Arthas brought down his hammer and caved in the beast's skull, helmet and all, with a ringing blow. The ogre slumped to the ground dead, as the ogre warriors lost heart, and fled, leaving behind many dead. The militia cheered at their victory, yet Arthas looked to the dead.

Suddenly he realized that he could see their spirits. Their souls had not yet left this place. And something within him awakened, a power he did not know he had. Raising a hand, he called to the spirits of the fallen and sent them back into their bodies. The dead arose, but not as undead. They were alive once more! Friends reunited, and many slaps were set to backs.

Arthas smiled, before departing that place alone. By the time the soldiers of Lordaeron looked up to thank him, he was already gone. That night the village held a feast and told stories of their exploits, and all praised the valor and honor of their Prince, who had saved them singlehanded and restored their dead to life.

Then, when they had feasted, they slept untroubled dreams.

* * *

It was a bitter day for the ogres when their warriors returned, dragging the bodies of their chieftain and many of their warriors. They lined the bodies up and burned them, as was their custom, and there was much weeping and gnashing of teeth. As the flames rose high into the night, and the armor of the Ogre Chieftain was given to his son, the lamentations rose to high heaven.

They cursed the humans. Cursed Jaina Proudmoore, cursed Arthas Menethil, and swore a thousand oaths of vengeance. Then as the flames subsided they looked to their defenses, and prepared themselves to ride out the storm.

One day the humans would slip up. Then they would pay them back a hundred fold.

* * *

Later that day, as dusk came upon Arthas on the road to Stratholme, the Prince was aware of neither mourning nor celebration. For a time the memory of the morning's success had brightened his mood, but soon enough he had returned his thoughts to his earlier failure. If he didn't stop Mal'ganis soon, that village would likely be wiped out by the scourge. A grim feeling of determination fell over him as he trod down the path.

In his mind, he realized that it was possible that Stratholme was infected by the plague. If he arrived, if he found it already infected, action would have to be taken. If it were not, Mal'ganis would control an army large enough to cover Lordaeron in a second, greater army.

And he already knew what he would have to do if it came to that. Marwynn's men had stumbled across the answer in their fear. Yet he was afraid to do it. It would be crossing a line, one he did not want to cross.

As he journeyed onwards he came upon a crossroads. One way led north to Stratholme, the other west to a port on which a fleet waited for a royal command.

The Prophet stood by the western way, a severe expression upon his face as his cloak flowed around him in the winds. Arthas stopped and realized suddenly that the words of one he had judged a madman were coming true. He was seized by indecision as he closed upon him.

'Greetings young Prince,' said Medivh 'we must talk.'

Arthas did not know what to say. He opened his mouth to speak, searching for the words, but they did not come. 'I have no time to speak, I have to get to Stratholme.'

'Listen to me boy,' said the Prophet 'this land is lost! The shadow has already fallen, and nothing you do will deter it. If you truly wish to save your people, lead them across the sea… to the west.' He spoke with finality, and as he spoke he walked to stare out across the road.

'Flee?' asked Arthas, and for a moment he realized he was actually considering it. For he felt in his heart that what the man said was true. 'And what of those I can't take with me? Not with every ship in the world could I transport all my people, and the sick, the old and the infirm would not survive such a journey. Shall I abandon them?'

The Prophets eyes were sad, distant, and filled with unfathomable remorse. 'Better that some should be saved than all consumed by the flame.'

Arthas remained fixed in place, and he suddenly felt as though he was making a terrible decision, the most important decision in his life. The light, what would the light have him do? And then he realized that the light was telling him to trust this man. He had already seen for himself that this war might never end. Even if it did, what land would be left for his people but a blighted hellscape.

Maybe it would be better if they started anew. He had trusted the light so far, and it had not led him astray. Arthas took a step forward, a hand coming up as if to speak. Then he lowered it and turned away. 'I'm sorry, but… no.' The word held a tone of finality. 'No, my place is here and my only course is to defend my people.'

The Prophet looked at him with pity, and a harsh anger came over Arthas though he did not show it. 'Then your choice is already made. Just remember, the harder you strive to slay your enemies, the faster you deliver your people right into their hands.'

Then taking on the form of a bird, he flew away over Arthas' head. The Prince watched him fly away, feeling bitterly tired. Then he looked to the road he had chosen. It was a dark one, but his duty demanded he take it. Fleeing from enemies only encouraged them to give chase. He'd learned that from a villager in Strahnbrad.

He looked up as Jaina appeared, fading into view before him. She had been watching invisible. 'I'm sorry for concealing myself Arthas, I just wanted to-'

'Don't say it!' snapped Arthas.

'I sense tremendous power about him, Arthas.' said Jaina 'Maybe he's right. Maybe he does know what will happen.'

'Nothing he can say will make me abandon my homeland, Jaina.' said Arthas 'I will stand or fall with Lordaeron whatever he says.' He chose the northern path. 'Let's go.'

Jaina followed him, for a time.

* * *

They made their way to a military village, one situated on the border of Straholme. It was a place of standardized houses and had a heavy stone village there. Here Arthas and Jaina met a group of soldiers who saluted as they came. 'Prince Arthas, we've heard terrible tales from Harthglen? Are the rumors true? Have the dead begun to rise?'

'Yes,' said Arthas 'for now the enemy is defeated. However, we must move quickly. Take your forces down to Stratholme, and seal off the gates. Nothing goes in or out. Send in some men to examine the city, and tell me if there are any crates bearing the regional seal of Anderhol. If you find them full, burn them. If any grain caravans arrive, arrest those aboard them and bring them to me at once. Do not eat anything.

Return to me with the information as soon as you have it.'

'I don't understand.' said the soldier.

'You don't have to!' snapped Arthas 'The fate of Lordaeron may rest on how quickly you accomplish these orders! Now go!'

The soldiers rushed off as ordered, and Arthas walked forward, breathing heavily. He remembered the lessons of meditation he had been taught by Uther, and breathed in and out, centering himself in the universe. He needed to be calm to command. Things were very dark now, but if all went as planned events would get better. He hoped.

Yet he felt suddenly very alone. He was surrounded on all sides by darkness, though it was not obvious. He wanted to be anywhere but here, but his duty was to remain.

'Arthas,' said Jaina 'what if the soldiers are infected?'

'This is a military town.' said Arthas 'One of those places set aside to resettle veterans who lost their homes. They were designed by my father for the specific purpose of putting down possible revolts. It has separate supply lines, and is designed to be entirely independent from the surrounding lands.'

'Well, at least we have an army then.' reflected Jaina. 'You know, I've never heard whose idea this whole military town thing has been. I know we didn't have them before the first war.'

Arthas smiled despite himself. 'You should have read some history while at Dalaran. They were the creation of a man named Aiden Wrynn.'

'Wrynn?' asked Jaina 'As in the royal family of Stormwind?'

'Yes,' said Arthas 'Aiden was a hero of the first war and a nephew of King Llane. In his prime, he was considered by many to be the greater general than even Lothar, and named Defender of the Crown in recognition of his great deeds.' He sighed. 'His role in history has been downplayed for… various reasons.'

Jaina blinked. 'What kind of reasons?'

'He made himself King of Stormwind.' said Arthas with a shrug. 'It didn't sit well with Varian, I guess.'

They waited perhaps an hour, and Arthas paced back and forth restlessly as he awaited the return of the soldiers. Just as he was beginning to become suspicious there was a neighing of horses, and Uther came riding around the bend. With him was Captain Falric, and Marwynn and many heavily armed soldiers and knights. They formed up as Uther approached. As Arthas walked to meet him, he suddenly felt his anger from earlier returning to him, and suspicions began to come into his mind regarding Uther. Was he merely here to take credit for Arthas' work? It was irrational, yet the nagging feeling would not leave him alone, and an overpowering contempt was upon him.

'Glad you could make it, Uther.' he said.

'Watch your tone with me, boy.' said Uther 'You may be the Prince but I'm still your superior as a Paladin!'

'As if I could forget,' snapped Arthas, moving past him, and marching to the top of the hill while feeling more distant from his mentor than ever. 'listen Uther, there is something about the plague you should know…'

At that moment the soldier from before returned. 'Prince Arthas, we found the crates you described.' he said in a low tone. 'However, they were empty. The townsfolk seemed… sick somehow. They barely seemed to notice us.'

Arthas froze and his eyes gazed over the people far below him, and the city itself. It was a metropolis, filled with a quarter of a million people. Its roofs were black shingled, and its walls were drab. There was a zoo in this place, where people visited. It had been created by his Father, long ago. Its place on the border between Quel'thalas and Lordaeron made it an important strategic location. An army based here could strike anywhere in the northern section of the continent.

And now this city had become infected by the plague. The people were going about their daily business. 'Oh no, we're too late.' he said 'These people have all been infected! They may look fine now, but it's only a matter of time before they turn into the undead!'

'What?!' cried Uther.

Arthas turned to Uther, feeling a terrible clarity. He knew what had to be done, he'd known what would have to be done when he ran over this possibility. Long ago the Silver Hand had been called upon to put down a peasant revolt in Tyr's Hand. It had been a gruesome affair indeed.

This would be even worse. 'This entire city must be purged.'

Uther looked horrified. 'How can you even consider that?! There has got to be some other way!'

A voice in Arthas' mind told him to brush this sentimental nonsense off, to attend to the matter at hand and establish his dominance. However, Arthas shoved it aside. 'How? How would you save this city?'

'Put the city under strict quarantine.' said Uther 'Then work to find a cure.'

It was tempting, an easy answer. Yet it wasn't the right one and they both knew it. 'You've been working to find a cure for months.' said Arthas 'We have a matter of hours before this plague takes effect, perhaps minutes.' He looked to Jaina. 'Jaina lets say we develop a cure in the next ten minutes. How long would it take for the Kirin Tor to mass produce it, and distribute it?'

'I…' Jaina paused 'I'm not sure. A few days perhaps, if we set everyone working on it.'

'That's not good enough,' said Arthas shaking his head. 'if Stratholme turns, Mal'ganis will command an army that numbers in the tens of thousands. We need an immediate solution.'

'Think about what you are suggesting lad!' cried Uther 'Men, women, children, how many innocents will die in this madness of yours?!'

'Far fewer than will die if Mal'ganis gets his army.' said Arthas 'We don't have any more time. As your future King, I order you to purge this city!'

'You are not my King yet, boy.' said Uther, resolve coming into his tone. 'Nor would I obey that command, even if you were.'

Arthas looked at Uther in a new light. He spoke, slowly, definitively: 'For as long as I can remember, men have looked to you as a beacon of light, untainted by sin or error. And why not, you are everything a Paladin should be.' He laughed bitterly. 'Everything I wanted to be. And you like that feeling.

This isn't about Stratholme is it? This is about you not wanting to get your hands dirty and do what needs to be done!'

Uther met his gaze firmly. 'The light has not guided us this far just to leave us now.'

'It already has!' roared Arthas with certainly. 'And I consider this an act of treason.'

'Treason?' asked Uther 'Have you lost your mind Arthas?!'

'Have I?' asked Arthas, and suddenly he felt reluctant. He looked back to Stratholme, and saw the countless innocent people down there. He searched his mind for any other options, reviewed the situation a thousand times. Yet there was nothing. He looked back to Uther, and the men of Lordaeron stepped back as they saw their Prince's face.

He now appeared to them almost as some terrible and distant figure, passing judgement for the good of all, without regard for their petty concerns. His eyes seemed to flare as he spoke. 'Lord Uther, by my right of succession, and the sovereignty of my crown, I hereby relieve you of your command.'

'Arthas you can't just-' began Jaina.

'It's done!' snapped Arthas 'Those of you with the will to save this land, follow me. The rest of you…' he looked over Uther and the men. 'get out of my sight.'

A silence fell over the army. 'You've just crossed a terrible threshold, Arthas.' said Uther, before turning to mount his horse and ride away. With him went a great many of the soldiers who had been assembled. To his satisfaction, neither Falric nor Marwynn turned away.

Then he saw one figure, the last to leave. 'Jaina…' he said.

'I'm sorry Arthas,' she said 'I can't watch you do this.'

The words shook him to the core. Then Jaina left, walking down the path Lord Uther had gone, and Arthas remained still stuck in place. He suddenly recalled the last time he had been here, hunting bandits. The syndicate had set up an outpost to begin raiding caravans. He had hunted them down to their camp with Falric and Marwynn, killed many, dragged the rest back to the town square and hung them at the gallows. It had been an early accomplishment, for which he had been lauded. For saving Stratholme.

He wondered if those bandits might have hijacked the caravan that infected Stratholme. That it might be different now. That he might not be alone.

'Milord,' said Falric 'I'd rather be killed a hundred times over than turned into one of those undead. You are right. There is no other option.'

'Falric, Marwynn,' said Arthas 'prepare your forces. We'll attack from both entrances, and wipe out the houses nearest to us first.' He turned to the knights who had accompanied him and froze. At long last, he would be commanding the knights of the Silver Hand in battle. How long had he dreamed of this day? Now he would use them to perpetrate a massacre.

A cold fury fell over him. Mal'ganis had taken his dreams and ground them into ashes.

'You men, I need you to remain outside of the city and watch for refugees. If the townsfolk break through the barricade, you are to overtake them and cut them down to the last.'

'But Prince Arthas,' said a Knight 'these are our subjects-'

'Those within this city are already dead!' snapped Arthas 'We are saving them from a fate far worse in the only way we can. This… this is not what I wanted. But it is the only option. If Mal'ganis succeeds here, then the armies of darkness will cover this world, and all we love will be lost!

Carry our your orders, sir knight.'

'As you wish, milord.' he said.

'Falric, Marwynn,' said Arthas 'the veterans of Harthglen and Anderhol will carry out this task. The rest will relieve the garrison forces, and have them return to their town to defend it from any undead incursions.'

'You believe that… that those who have not seen the plague first hand will hesitate.' said Falric, looking unsteady.

'Yes.' said Arthas 'And the garrison cannot be relied upon to stop fleeing civilians. Let's move, the plague may take effect soon.'

The army followed him in mournful silence. Most of those who had accompanied them were veterans of Harthglen, and Anderhol, and people who had actually fought in the battle against the scourge. Those who had come in as reinforcements, having not seen the things they had seen, contented themselves with the knowledge that they were madmen. That they could never do the things Arthas and his men were doing. And perhaps it was correct.

Yet they needed to be done.

They came to the gates and there encountered the garrison. They saluted smartly as Arthas approached, then looked concerned as the Prince approached. Behind the guards were a group of civilians, clustered in a great crowd, murmuring and arguing with the guards who were barring their path.

The officer in charge approached. 'We have sealed off the city as you ordered, though the citizens aren't happy with it.' When Arthas didn't answer he looked concerned. 'Prince Arthas. Is something wrong?'

'Nothing you need concern yourself with, Captain.' said Arthas 'You and your men are to return home and safeguard the town against any further assault by the undead. I doubt they will remain silent during our operation.'

'Then the quarantine is to be lifted?' asked a soldier hopefully.

'No,' said Arthas 'however operations will now be under my direct command. Marwynn, I leave you in charge of sealing off the gates. Leave a force here, and take charge of the other entrance.'

'Yes milord,' said Marwynn, before motioning to a number of his soldiers.

A contingent of heavily armored footmen made their way to the other gate, and there Marwynn began to speak with the officer there. Arthas turned to Falric. 'Falric, ready your men and await my command.' He turned to the officer. 'Why are you still here? Take your forces and get moving!'

'Yes milord,' said the officer quickly, before motioning to his men. 'Move out!'

For a moment Arthas was afraid that the crowd would break out, however Falric's men moved forward and took the places of their inexperienced brethren, and held back the crowd. Arthas made his way forward, to the front and was approached by a man dressed in fine merchant clothing, accompanied by a pretty auburn haired girl.

'Prince Arthas, thank goodness you are here.' said the merchant 'The soldiers of the nearby town have sealed off all passage to and from the city. What is going on? My daughter and I have places to be.'

'Forgive my father,' said the women quickly, looking bashful. 'he is under a great deal of strain. I've heard many stories of your heroic exploits, but I never knew you were so handsome.'

Arthas was speechless. It suddenly occurred to him that he might be able to save these two. 'Have you eaten any bread from the grain supply?' he asked. 'The shipments from Anderhol?'

'I don't understand.' said the merchant.

'Answer the question.' said Arthas.

'No,' said the merchant 'we skipped breakfast and lunch.'

Arthas said nothing. He took both by the hand and pulled them through the line. 'Both of you are free to go,' he said once he was beyond earshot. 'leave this place, and don't look back. You can take shelter in the town to the northeast of here. If anyone offers you bread, refuse it.'

'Prince Arthas,' said the women 'what is going on.'

'Go!' snapped Arthas 'Before its too late!'

They made their way off, and Falric came up behind him. 'Well, that is two people we won't have to put down. I hope they weren't lying.'

'They had no reason to lie.' said Arthas 'Falric, do you think we might be able to set up some kind of checkpoint and filter out anyone who hasn't eaten the bread? We might save thousands.'

Falric remained silent for a long, long time. 'I… no, no milord it's not possible. We can't just ask them if they had eaten the bread, because once word got out that those who hadn't eaten of it were being allowed to leave, people would start leaving.

I'm sorry.'

'…Very well,' said Arthas 'tell your soldiers to prepare themselves.' He turned back to the crowd, and every detail, every face and outfit was framed into his mind. It was a moment that seemed to last forever. He wanted it to last forever so that he wouldn't have to do what he had been called to do.

Then a soldier arrived from Marwynn. 'Milord,' said the soldier 'Captain Marwynn is in position. The garrison has returned. There is no one to stop us.'

'…Very well,' said Arthas 'kill them. Kill them all!'

Confusion fell over the crowd as the footmen drew their swords. That confusion turned to horror as they were cut down like animals. Terrified screams echoed throughout the streets as the crowd was slaughtered. People raced out of buildings to see what was happening only to be cut down. Some fled into the buildings, and barred the doors behind them, throwing furniture against the doors to stop them.

'Break it down!' called Falric 'Remember what is at stake!'

'There is no time.' said Arthas 'Set fire to the houses. When they escape, we'll be waiting for them.'

Flaming brands were set to the buildings and flames licked up with a suddenness and intensity which was almost unholy. It soon spread across the densely packed buildings, to consume wood and shingle with equal power. As the people cast aside their barricades and raced out, the men of Lordaeron hesitated.

And so they should. They did not want to do this. Arthas didn't either, but he had no right to abstain from the slaughter. He must lead by example, or all would be lost. He charged at a family. One of them, an old man with a sword tried to bar his way.

'You sick bastard! You'll never get away with-'

Arthas crushed the man's skull, before striking down the younger man, and finally slaying the women as she tried to flee. She fell, and in her arms a child had its skull cracked on the pavement. As their bodies hit the ground, his warriors followed him and slaughtered the cowering townsfolk. Stratholme was not a military city, it had largely remained free of the Second War.

There was no great force of veterans, and what militia they had trained were trained in the garrison town far above. It was a simple matter to slaughter everyone on the remains of the block. It was nothing short of a massacre. The wailing of infants, the cries of terror became louder, sounding like the wails of the dead.

Then they met resistance. For some among the townsfolk had begun to transform into undead. Zombies shambled towards them, mouths hanging open as unholy moans echoed, and the forces of Lordaeron fell upon them with renewed fury. The confirmation that he had been right brought Arthas no joy, but it did harden his determination.

The next block he set fire to personally, and led his forces in the massacre, never relenting, never stopping until all the people were corpses around him. Blood coated his face, his armor was covered in it as well. He threw himself into mindless bloodlust, killing everything in sight that was not his soldiers.

Women and children were dying by his hand. Because it was necessary. Because of Mal'ganis. All of a sudden he awakened from his madness and his eyes were drawn to the far end of a street, where a green mist was making itself known. A figure of shadow appeared, and many undead minions appeared around him.

Its skin was as pale as death. Its eyes were as black as night. Its claws were large enough to rend a man in two, and it had two great batwings which unfurled as it looked to Arthas and smiled. 'I've been waiting for you, young Prince.' he said 'I am Mal'ganis.'

The demon walked down the street towards Arthas, and as he did so the townfolk still hiding walked out of their houses in a trance. Gathering around him, the townsfolk bowed before the demon. Mal'ganis smiled, and raised one hand.

'As you can see, your people are now mine. I will now turn this city, household by household, until the flame of life has been snuffed out, forever.'

The soldiers gathered behind Arthas, as the townsfolk transformed, turning round now as a horrifying mockery of life, hungry for flesh. Arthas raised his hammer. 'I won't allow it, Mal'ganis!' he cried 'Better that these people die by my hand than serve as your slaves in death!'

Battle was joined, as the forces of Lordaeron met the undead scourge in brutal combat. Back and forth it waged, as the zombies were slaughtered with ease by the experienced soldiers of Falric. However as they reached Mal'ganis' forces, they met an opponent far more formidable.

Mal'ganis raised a claw, and Falric and several of his men slowed to a halt, their eyes vacant as the undead engaged the other soldiers without interference. Arthas scattered a group of ghouls with his hammer, before ducking aside from an abomination and smashing its head off. Then Mal'ganis' spell hit him, and he found himself desiring to fall into a state of sleep.

Summoning the light within him, Arthas drove the spell back and returned in kind. The demon flinched as light consumed him in its brilliance. Yet when it waned, he stood there, scarcely harmed. Arthas raised him, and Mal'ganis summoned into his hand a staff. Their weapons collided in a battle of light and dark as they fought each other back and forth.

The demon was smiling, enjoying himself as he kept always just beyond Arthas' reach. Finally, the demon leaped back, his wings beating the air as he gained distance between them. Arthas realized that his men had overwhelmed Mal'ganis' forces. Rushing at the demon, Arthas brought down his hammer and struck him, summoning all the light within him. The hammer struck the Dreadlords skull, yet instead of a cry of wrath, the demon melted into darkness and scattered away.

He was not dead. Arthas knew this in his heart, though he did not know how.

'Milord,' said Falric 'is it over?'

'No,' said Arthas 'Mal'ganis yet lives, and the plague remains a threat. Continue with the attack, Captain.'

So the bloodletting continued. As they slaughtered their way through the innocent and guilty alike, they encountered more and more zombies and fewer healthy citizens. They also encountered more advanced undead, ghouls and abominations. As the combat continued, word came from Marwynn.

'Milord,' said the soldier 'the undead have begun to assault the town. Do we intervene?'

'We can't afford to.' said Arthas 'We will have to hope they can hold their ground until we finish our business here.'

'As you wish.'

'Wait,' said Arthas suddenly. 'Falric, send word to our knights stationed outside the city. Tell them to reinforce the town, and make sure it doesn't fall.'

'I live once more!' cried Mal'ganis' voice throughout the city.

The rest of the combat became a horrific blur for Arthas. They went from house to house, warehouse to warehouse, killing everything they found. He clashed many times with Mal'ganis, and each time the Dreadlord would allow himself to fall, only to return stronger next time with even further forces. He saw men die around him, watched the innocent transform into monsters before his very eyes.

On and on it went, as his hate grew ever stronger.

Finally, when the bloodletting was done, he stood alone before Mal'ganis, who in turn was without guards. Arthas stepped forward, hammer in hand. 'We're going to finish this right now, Mal'ganis. Just you and me.' There was bloodlust in his tone, but he paid it no heed. He didn't care anymore if it showed.

'Brave words,' said Mal'ganis in amusement. 'unfortunately for you, it won't end here.' Then he turned and fled, and Arthas raced after him. 'Your journey has just begun, young Prince.'

Halting before a bridge, the Dreadlord turned around and faced him. 'Gather your forces, and meet me in the arctic land of Northrend. It is there that we shall settle the score between us. It is there that your true destiny shall unfold.' Then he was gone in a flaring of blue light.

Arthas raced forward, too late to stop him. 'I'll hunt you to the ends of the earth if I have to! Do you hear me? To the ends of the earth!' He roared aloud, raising his hammer.

Then it was over.

The threat to Lordaeron was ended, and yet nothing was solved. So many were dead, and the land was ravaged. Mal'ganis was still alive and would return if he wasn't slain. Of that Arthas was certain.

He found Falric sitting against a tree in a park, surrounded by bodies. His men were some distance away. Falric glanced to him with empty eyes, and Arthas sat down before him. For a moment the two men simply were silent, mourning all that had been lost. Then Arthas spoke: 'This isn't over Falric. I won't let that… bastard, get away with this. I will hunt down Mal'ganis, and kill him myself. I need you with me.'

'My lord,' said Falric 'my sword is yours as always.'

'Thank you.' said Arthas, before standing. 'Get the men up.'

'Give them a moment for light's sake,' said Falric.

'The garrison was under assault.' said Arthas 'They may need our aid. All of you, make ready to reinforce the stronghold. We'll… we'll see to the corpses later.'

They found the border town still intact. There were many bodies lying around them, mostly undead. Among the defenders were the knights whom Arthas had assigned to massacre any escaped villagers. The soldiers looked up in horror as he and his men approached. He knew without asking that they knew what had occurred. One of them drew their swords and charged him.

'Murderer!' he cried.

Before the man could make his move, Falric stepped before him and disarmed him with a smooth movement. Bringing round his shield, he bashed him to the ground. 'Stay your hand soldier, I have no desire to kill you.'

'You call yourself a Prince of Lordaeron!' cried a young soldier. 'You've slaughtered your own people! You're a disgrace to-' A sword was pointed to his throat, as Arthas' soldiers drew their swords.

'Don't lecture us, boy!' snapped Falric 'If we hadn't burned that damn city this entire country would have been overrun! The plague has no cure!'

'Enough,' said Arthas 'the undead must not be able to use the corpses of those in Stratholme. I am assigning the people of this village, and those surrounding it to take charge of burning the bodies. I'm not asking for you love, merely your obedience.'

'…It could take months to burn all those corpses.' said the officer.

'Then you'd best begin now.' said Arthas 'I am needed elsewhere.'

So ended the battle for Strahnbrad. And with it was rooted the seeds of far greater terrors.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

Well, here we have the Culling of Stratholme. Once again, I completely ignored the actual mission, mostly because I've played it more times than I can count. Also, because the Culling isn't at all how such a situation would play out in real life. In real life there would be vast numbers of people fleeing the city to escape the Alliance soldiers. In real life, the Alliance would have noticed the undead building a base right under their noses, long before Stratholme was infected with the plague.

So yeah, I choose to write this one out from scratch, because that's how I roll. This is probably the darkest mission in Warcraft III, actually. And I'm just going to say this, Arthas did the right thing. No one has developed a cure for the plague yet in World of Warcraft, so it's absurd to think anything could have been done.

Most people who are anti-culling say that he should have quarantined the city and left for Kalimdor. But even if you did plan to leave for Kalimdor, you should still purge Stratholme. Giving the undead a free massive army just to keep your hands clean is under no circumstances the right decision.

Arthas bad decision was to pursue Mal'ganis to Northrend, and even that could be argued to be a potentially good idea. If properly organized, the expedition might well have ended the threat permanently. He just rushed into it.

Even if we are to assume that the Prophet was right, and nothing could be done to save Lordaeron, then the ideal solution is to purge Stratholme, and then go to Kalimdor. That way you have given Mal'ganis a major setback and he'll have to rebuild the scourge from the ground up before he can sack Lordaeron. Even the Prophet admits that Arthas' plan worked in the short term.

As for the whole thing with the ogres, I figured I'd give Arthas one last heroic victory before he goes all dark. And also paint the Alliance in a darker light than is usual through the ogres perspective. The thing about the Alliance is that after a certain point, nobody liked it. Its member nations didn't appreciate having to pay taxes to support the orcs, the Horde regarded it as their archnemesis, the legion as a major roadblock in their plans, and the unaligned races hated it because it kept them as perpetual underdogs.

From the perspective of the trolls, ogres, and other races, the humans were practically the main villains. Or at least major league karma houdinis who had escaped a richly deserved asskicking for far too long. This is what makes Warcraft great, the variety of morally grey factions, who all have their own heroes and villains.

Until World of Warcraft got ahold of things and tried to make it black and white. Instead it ended up being black and black, with the Burning Legion coming across as having a point. Good job Metzen.


	7. Divergent Courses

**Chapter Seven: Divergent Courses**

 _Father,_

 _I am writing you this letter that you might understand the events which have occurred since by departure from Strahnbrad. The plague which has spread throughout the grain caravans by the undead was not meant just to slay our people. It was meant to turn them into the undead. When I arrived in Stratholme, I found it infected by the plague. The decision to purge the city was not made lightly, and even as I did so the people began to transform into the undead._

 _It was during this that I encountered the demon responsible for all of these tragic events, Mal'ganis. Though I attempted to slay him, he evaded me, and has fled to Northrend. I am pursuing him now, to put an end to this once and for all._

 _Do not interfere._

 _-Arthas_

The letter was hastily scrawled, written quickly as if as an afterthought. It was almost a command. King Terenas read it with shaking hands. The reports which had been brought back to him by Uther's forces were shocking. He'd scarcely been able to believe them. And yet with this most recent letter he had to believe it.

He wondered what horrors his son had seen on the mission he had sent him on. And his mind turned to the warnings of the Prophet. Then his mind returned to what he had recently been doing, and its results. Rolling up the parchment, he tried to maintain his composure as he set it carefully down and leaned back in his seat to look around his office. It was an ornate sort of place.

There were bookcases practically spilling with information on everything from farming, to theories on the afterlife. Beneath his desk were two crossbows, kept ready for use just in case. The windows were tinted so that it was impossible to see whether someone was inside. A suit of armor was to one side, kept in perfect condition though King Terenas hadn't used it in years. In its hands was a fine sword, used to defeat Graymane many years ago. A victory which had sparked the beginnings of Uther Lightbringer's illustrious career.

And for the first time in his life, King Terenas realized he didn't give a damn. He didn't give a damn about his people in this moment, or the careful political angling which had been ruined by the purge of Stratholme. He didn't care about the Alliance, or the rebuilding of Stormwind. Nothing in that moment mattered except what had happened to his son.

He had somewhere he was supposed to be in an hour, but after the _other_ letter he had received, some five minutes before his sons, delivered by an apologetic elf, he didn't really feel up to it. He didn't know how long he sat there, doing nothing, feeling terribly empty. He knew that, with his Kingdom falling to pieces around him, he should be in a flurry of activity, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Perhaps an hour later, the door opened and Calia entered looking concerned. 'Father, the Alliance Council is waiting for you. Where have you been?'

'The Alliance Council can go to hell.' said King Terenas, staring up at the ceiling.

'Right,' said Calia, surprised at his apathy. 'well, I'm sure that will uh… go over well in the emergency session.'

'The emergency session can go to hell!' snapped Terenas as he arose. 'And you can go to hell too! I wouldn't want you to feel left out!'

Calia stepped back, frightened, and Terenas became aware he had never shown this side of himself before. The side which had humiliated Genn Graymane in a lightning-swift war which had seen Lordaeron become the dominant power in the north. The closest he'd ever come had been when she had questioned him about marrying her to Daval Prestor, a decision which had been oddly important to him. He'd never wondered why.

'Father,' she said, recovering somewhat. 'why are you doing this?'

And King Terenas remembered what it was that had put him in this mood, beyond merely his son's descent into insanity. 'Because I finally received a response from the High Elves of Quel'thalas.' He said in a low tone. 'Do you know what that race of overprivileged parasites has sent as a response to my humble request for reinforcements against the undead scourge?'

Calia considered that. 'Well I imagine they-'

Terenas raised a hand for silence, and she fell silent as he paced in circles. 'After due consideration of their debt to Lordaeron, the noble and mysterious High Elves of Silvermoon have assessed the situation and decided to do…' He paused for effect, and let his shoulders drop. 'Nothing.'

There was silence. 'Nothing?' asked Calia, clearly unsure of how to respond. 'But… we lost thousands protecting them. Why would they-'

'Because the life of a few thousand humans is the blink of an eye for them!' snapped King Terenas 'Because they are a race of cowards and hypocrites! Because the devastation of the nations which have helped them time and time again is tantamount to an anthill being kicked over in their eyes!

And because by the time their troops got here…' He his voice lowered and he turned and looked up at the suit of armor, the years falling upon him at last as he felt older and weaker than he ever had. 'By the time their troops got here, Arthas and Uther will have probably stopped the scourge in its tracks. There is, of course, a significant remnant, but its nothing we can't wipe out on our own in a forty year guerrilla war. The only reason they would have to help us is easing humanities suffering, and it's obvious that means nothing to them. But that's not all, of course.

Genn Graymane in his usual brand of brainlessness has decided to seal off all the borders to his nation and embrace a policy of splendid isolation. And it will remain splendid until a disease breaks out inside the packed confines of his self-made prison, and everyone dies. The fool has yet to realize that you can only fence yourself in. You cannot fence others out.

In other news, Thoras Trollbane is still annoyed that I tried to keep Alterac's sovereignty, and so Stromguarde has refused to aid us. Varian has promised to send aid as soon as he can, but that could be years. And Khaz Modan has already sent their forces, they are still recovering from the second war.

It's funny. It seems like only yesterday that everyone was coming to us for help. Years of helping the other nations as no one else could, and we are abandoned like an old rag as soon as our alliance is no longer convenient for them.' He reached forward and grasped the sword from the armors hands, raising its blade up to his nose and turning round. 'So…'

Her surged towards the far wall, blade in hand. Calia screamed, mistaking the blade as meant for her and ducked. King Terenas rushed past her and brought the sword round to slash the ropes holding the banner of the Alliance down. The ropes snapped in seconds, and the blue banner floated down to the ground to land at his feet. Throwing the blade aside, he stamped the banner into the dust.

'Damn all of them!' He roared. 'They had best hope that Lordaeron can handle this alone. Because if they are wrong… if the scourge does triumph. I sincerely hope that they suffer as my people have suffered, for their inaction!' He fell forward suddenly and Calia caught him.

'Father,' said Calia 'I'm going to cancel the emergency meeting. You need rest.'

The King regained some of his composure and stood up by his own power, dusting himself of. 'No,' said Terenas 'as far as the Alliance is to be concerned, we have heard nothing from the other nations.' He stood up. 'Maybe if we can convince Kael'thas to pull some strings for us, we can shame his idiot Father into doing something for once.' He stood up and spared one final glance to the banner. 'I will have that burned later. If you'll excuse me.'

'Father, maybe I should go in your place.' said Calia 'You're tired.'

'Not now,' said King Terenas 'perhaps later.'

Then he walked out the door.

If King Terenas had known that this was how his people would be rewarded for their aid down the road, he wasn't sure whether he would have taken the steps he had, or brooked a truce with Orgrim Doomhammer and left the rest to burn. He felt he understood the traitor Aiden Pernolde a bit better now.

* * *

A caravan made its way along a path, bound for the villages of the Alliance. As it did so, however, a great swarm of bandit appeared. They threw the merchant to the ground, and took his wagons and merchandise before escaping scot free.

'Business has never been better!' proclaimed a bandit.

'Too right, boss!' said another 'Ever since the paladins all got caught up fighting the undead, we've had ourselves an easy time of it!'

As they laughed to themselves, however they suddenly ground to a halt. For in front of them stood the amassed ranks of an army of Lordaeron, clad in orange. And at its head stood Gavinrad the Dire, dark haired and holding a very large hammer. He did not look please to see them.

The bandits scattered. One was shot as he tried to get off the wagon. The other two rushed into the underbrush, pursued by two soldiers. A gunshot echoed, and caught one of them in the leg. He fell to the ground, unable to move on his own, and his friend turned to face him.

'Help me!' cried the wounded bandit. 'Help me please!'

The uninjured bandit saw the approaching footmen, and fled into the woods. As the soldiers reached the wounded bandit, there was a scream, followed by the sound of metal hitting flesh. The uninjured bandit fled deeper and deeper into the darkness, heedless of where he was going, until he suddenly tripped over a root, and stumbled to land with a crash. Pulling himself up, he realized he had come into a place where the plants were wilted, and the ground was blackened.

Blight. He was standing on blight.

The knowledge horrified him.

A low snarling came to his ears, and he raised his axe as he looked up and saw, not a wolf, but a ghoul approaching him. The beast rushed at him and he held its jaws off with his shield, struggling back and forth beneath its wild fury. Shoving it off him, he swung at it with his axe, driving it back. Then it leaped at him, and he closed his eyes and wildly lashed out.

There was a sound of pain, and then silence. He opened his eyes to see that the ghoul lay dead, his axe imbedded in its skull. Getting onto his hands and knees, he removed his axe, and breathed a sigh of relief. Then more snarling sounded and he looked up. Out of the trees ghouls came at him from every direction.

There was a scream of absolute terror, suddenly cut short.

Then came the sound of munching.

* * *

It took only a little while for Gavinrad to return the stolen cargo, and to his pleasure they found the merchant a little ways down the road, unharmed. He was exceptionally pleased when they revealed that he would be making his trip with cargo fully intact.

'Bless you, Sir Paladin.' he said, shaking Gavinrad's hand vigorously. 'We were afraid we'd be ruined.'

'What were you carrying?' asked Gavinrad.

'A shipment of fur cloaks for Prince Arthas army.' said the Merchant 'He has ordered a great amount of them, for some expedition. That and many weapons, and all kinds of preserved food stuffs. Its to be a great host, or so I hear.'

'Did he?' asked Gavinrad, before returning to business. 'Where were the caravan guards? Did they flee? Or were they killed.' He doubted it was the latter, these bandits had fallen far too easily.

'No.' said the Merchant 'We didn't have any. You see, the local garrison has had to give up a good portion of its forces and with the undead they didn't have any to spare. For Prince Arthas' army you see. Milord is rallying forces for it, and it has left the roads less safe, but I'm sure the Prince knows best.'

'One can only hope.' said Gavinrad in a thoughtful tone. 'I will leave some men to escort you the rest of the way. For now, I must report this news to Lord Uther. He will want to know.'

Gavinrad had a bad feeling about this. A very bad feeling indeed.

As he travelled to meet with Uther, he and his men passed through a village. Within the square a crowd had amassed, surrounding a crier who held a parchment. There was much to announce, reflected Gavinrad. The dead were walking the land, and many bloody battles had been fought. Stratholme had been burned to the ground, though there had been a great deal hidden about that particular event. All that was known was that the plague, and the undead were involved. There were rumors that Prince Arthas had slaughtered the entire city, but Gavinrad didn't put any stock in such tell. It wasn't in the boys nature.

The crier began to speak: 'By order of the Prince, one in ten of every able bodied soldier in the garrison of this village is to make ready for battle! We also require the assistance of any willing Priests of the Light, or Mages of the Kirin Tor that are here! Their skills are needed to defeat the undead who have ravaged our land, consuming the innocent!' called a town crier to an assembled crowd. 'We also have a need for willing volunteers!Those who wish to serve in this holy crusade should go to the Alliance base nearest to them, and submit themselves to be outfitted for war!'

Standard practice was that in times of need a lottery would be made to determine who would go, and who would stay, but if the cheers were any indication it would not be needed here. Prince Arthas was regarded with awe and respect, and the people believed that if he had called for their aid, it was with good reason.

'We'll fight for Lordaeron!' cried the leader of a group of young men. 'Get your swords!'

So it was that across the land, the call went out for soldiers by Prince Arthas. As Gavinrad journeyed in pursuit of Uther, he saw many recruiters going throughout the villages, and they were met with enthusiasm and cheer. However as he drew into the more blighter, and darker areas, they became a source of dread.

'One in ten men?' cried a soldier. 'What if the undead return? We can't afford to lose that many soldiers.'

'Prince Arthas saved us,' said another 'we must trust in his judgement.'

The lotteries here were well in session. As Gavinrad continued, he saw parties making their way across the road to the Alliance bases.

It was on the third day of his journey that Gavinrad came across Uther. He found the Paladin standing amidst the ruins of an undead bastion, surrounded by his fallen foes. His armor was covered in the grime of battle, and he was breathing heavily, his hammer held in a vicelike grip. He did not looked back as Gavinrad approached. 'What is it, Gavinrad?'

'Prince Arthas is assembling a great host of soldiers.' said Gavinrad 'I felt I should tell you, though you likely already know.'

'No.' said Uther 'I did not know. Arthas and I have not spoken since Stratholme. Did you hear where he meant to go?'

'No.' said Gavinrad 'No one knows, and I have asked many. It seems he is being rather secretive about his goals. I have heard that he has commandeered a great host of ships however, so it is likely overseas. He claims he means to hunt down those responsible for the blight, and the plague.'

'…I must stop him,' said Uther suddenly. 'he is in no shape to be commanding anything. You did well to bring this to me, Gavinrad. You are a loyal friend. I ask that you watch over this land while I am occupied pursuing my wayward student. Goodbye.'

Then Uther marched off just like that, leaving behind him the ruins of the undead. Gavinrad could see hundreds of their bodies in the base alone, and hundreds more in the field. Accompanied by only a few knights, Uther had killed well over a thousand undead single handedly.

Gavinrad was very glad that Uther Lightbringer was on the side of right.

* * *

Three days later, among the ruins of Stratholme the city lay in smoldering ruins. Most of the buildings in the center of the city had been reduced to ashes, and those that had survived had been emptied when the people within transformed into undead. The scent of death was everywhere, and the smell of burning flesh was now mixed with it as the bonfires burned day and night. They had been burning for nearly a weak, and still there were more corpses to put to the flame. Bloodstains were upon every street.

Teams of men cast corpses onto fires, with clothes wrapped over their mouths and nose to prevent them from retching. They wished more than anything to stop, but they knew that every corpse not reduced to ashes could be turned into undead. Burning now were the bodies of men, women, and children, even babies. It was a mournful and terrifying spectacle that Jaina walked through.

He had done this. The forces of Lordaeron had done this to their own people. She could scarcely conceive of it, but the truth was absolute and horrifying. Her hand shook as she clutched the staff and supported herself on it as she resisted the urge to faint. She'd known what she would find here, but she had to see it.

The sorceress made her way away from the piles of burning corpses, trying to keep herself from sobbing. Trying to keep herself from throwing up. On both counts, she succeeded.

'So much death…' she said 'I can't believe Arthas could've done this.'

'Jaina!' cried a voice. 'Jaina Proudmoore!'

She turned and saw Uther rushing up to her. The old paladin looked nearly as horrified as her, though he quickly replaced it with a bold face. He stood before her, breathing heavily and looking suddenly very old.

'Lord Uther,' said Jaina, trying to regain her composure.

'Ah, Jaina, ' said Uther, relieved. 'I thought I might find you here. Where has he gone, girl? Where has Arthas taken the fleet?'

'He came to me before he left,' said Jaina, the words pouring out. 'I pleaded with him not to go. It sounded like a trap!'

'Where?!' asked Uther, raising his voice.

Jaina remained silent. 'Northrend,' she said 'he's gone to northrend to hunt Mal'ganis.'

'Damn that boy!' cursed Uther 'I've got to inform King Terenas.' He looked to the bodies being consumed, then back to Jaina, his eyes holding some sympathy. 'Don't be too hard on yourself, girl. You had nothing to do with this… slaughter.' He turned and moved away, striding swiftly out of sight and through the ruined streets.

No sooner had he gone, but a raven flew out of the smoke without a sound. It descended to the ground in a spiral, landed and transformed into the Prophet, who arose in a somber spectacle. 'The dead in this land might lie still for the time being, but don't be fooled.' he stated 'Your young Prince will find only death in the cold north.'

'You!' said Jaina 'Arthas is only doing what he believes is right!'

The Prophet looked to the slaughtered corpses, then back to her and Jaina took his point. 'Commendable as that may be,' The sarcasm in his voice was bitter. 'his passions will be his undoing. It falls to you now, young sorceress. You must lead your people west, to the ancient lands of Kalimdor. Only there can you combat the shadow, and save this world from the flame.'

And it was in that moment that Jaina realized this was the last chance. After this there would be no turning back. Either she would stay here, and try to save a land which was rapidly dying, or she would risk everything on the words of a Prophet who had seen everything which had happened thus far.

Jaina Proudmoore made her decision. It was the hardest decision she'd ever made in her life, but she made it.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

So yeah, I figured I'd paint a picture of what Arthas' expedition had looked like from the viewpoint of the common people. I had originally planned to show Jaina's scene with Arthas, but I honestly couldn't think of a way to write it. So I followed the games example and left it to your imagination.

Believe it or not, this chapter was supremely difficult to write. I just couldn't decide what to do. Then all of a sudden it came to me in an instant, and I managed to make it all click into place. Writing really can be weird. You can spend years in the planning stages, unable to make progress, and then churn out a whole novel in a week.

I took a bit of inspiration from Babylon 5 in the scene with King Terenas. See, King Terenas spends his entire career dealing with traumatic and horrible stuff and always keeping a calm and benevolent face. Always doing what is best for others, even at his own expense. So after an entire career of that, when everyone he has helped basically tells him to go fuck himself when he needs their help, he snaps for a moment. I like to imagine that this scene happened in canon, since the curse Terenas proclaims would come true with a terrifying vengeance.


	8. The Shores of Northrend

**Chapter Eight: The Shores of Northrend**

A blue sky still hung over Lordaeron. The dead were burned these days, and the paladins went back and forth seeking undead to slay. The town guard had become increasingly vigilant, so that operations had become very difficult. Several of the Cult of the Damned had been caught and interrogated, and from what had been learned from them many more had paid the price. They had been hung in gallows outside the town.

And all the while the piles of burning corpses rose higher and higher, by order of the Prince. In a little hovel, on the outskirts of Anderhol, cultists met with their leader. They were fearful, and looked around warily, terrified that the Paladins might be discovered.

'Is everything proceeding according to the Lich King's will, Rivendare?' asked one fearfully.

Rivendare was a gaunt man, and he wore black armor and bore a Runeblade at his side. He was a skilled warrior, but it had been Kel'thuzad's will that he not involve himself in the battles with the Silver Hand until now. Instead it had fallen to him to ensure the cultists remained disciplined. 'Of course,' said Rivendare 'the light has only triumphed because the Lich King allows it to triumph. The stain of demon worship must be purged from the cult before his true champion can take his place as Lord above us, and Kel'thuzad be returned to life.'

'Yet… we have taken so many casualties.' said one 'Are we sure even the Lich King's champion can defeat the Paladins?'

'Have faith, brother.' said Rivendare 'All things are possible with the Lich King. For now we are to disband. We shall go into hiding amongst the populace, assuming our old names and identities. And we shall await his coming, when the time is right.'

'Yes, Baron Rivendare.'

They dispersed, and did not meet again until the fracturing of Lordaeron was complete.

* * *

One month later, along the icy coast of the Daggercap Bay, the Fleet of Lordaeron pulled into harbor in a rocky and freezing land. The air was bitterly cold, and as Arthas stepped off the longboat, followed by his men he could see his breath in front of his face. The heavy fur cloak around his body flowed about him in a chill wind. It did not disguise the cold much, only prevented it from becoming lethal. Yet he paid it no heed, making his way up to the top of a nearby hill to look into the forlorn peaks around him, as his men were unloaded.

'This is a light forsaken land, isn't it?' asked Falric 'You can barely even see the sun. This howling wind cuts to the bone, and you're not even shaking.' He paused. 'Milord, are you alright?'

Arthas looked back. 'I'm fine. Are all our forces accounted for?'

'Nearly,' said Falric 'there are only a few ships that ran aground on the rocks.'

'Very wel,' said Arthas 'send some of the ships to scour for survivors. I don't want any unnecessary deaths. Our first priority is to set up a base camp with proper defenses. Assign Marwynn to secure the ships here. I'm taking the forces we have now inland.

Theres no telling whats waiting for us out there in the shadows.'

'As you wish milord.' said Falric.

It took less than an hour for them to set out, and then they made their way into the bleak and frozen landscape. There were trees here, but they were without leaves, and their boughs were brittle from the cold. The snow fell lightly upon them as they made their way onwards.

Perhaps half an hour from the shore, there came a howl from the clifftops. Looking up they saw many giant wolves with white pelts leaping down the cliffs towards them. Arthas stepped forward as one rushed him, and brought round his hammer to cave its skull and send it flying. Falric caught another on his shield and threw it down before running it through. A man had his throat torn out by the creatures, moments before his comrades could aid him. Finally, the wolves turned and fled, wounded and wimpering.

Arthas walked to the wounded man and set one hand to his throat. He summoned the light, and healed him fully, before rising again. 'Come, lets continue.'

'…Light bless you milord.' said the soldier behind him. 'I thought I was a goner.'

'All things are possible with the light.' reflected Arthas, though he realized he didn't believe a word of it. 'Now get up and let's go.'

As they pressed on they saw no more wolves. The snow slackened, and as the cliffs loomed higher on either side of them the wind began to die down. Instead, there was only an endless howling which caused men to look around fearfully.

'What is this wretched place called?' asked Falric.

'Howling Fjord,' said Arthas grimly. 'I named it myself.'

'Ah, yes, I'd forgotten that you'd been here before?' asked Falric. 'Truth be told, I've never heard the story in full. No one ever talks about it.'

'Of course, they don't,' said Arthas 'if people talked too much about Northrend the Alliances darker side would become apparent. I will say no more, here, however.' Suddenly he stopped. 'Stay very still.'

The forces halted behind him, and they saw a young figure, a child perhaps making her way across the snows. Yet she had whitish gray skin and tusks. She looked at them and turned to flee back to the village.

'Ice trolls,' said Arthas, trying to hide the contempt in his voice. 'this does not bode well for the colonies survival.'

'Colony?' asked Falric. 'What are you talking about?'

'Not now,' said Arthas 'there is a village the way she ran. Odd, I thought we had established a truce. No matter, we're going to avoid it if we can. Come, there is another pass to the east, let's try that way.'

'Sir,' said a soldier 'why don't we simply slaughter the beasts and be done with it?'

'Even beasts have families,' noted Arthas 'besides I doubt they hold a very high opinion of the undead, and I'd rather not fight all of Northrend if I can avoid it.'

At that moment a great host of ice trolls rushed over the hills. They were far larger in number than Arthas' force, and he turned to Falric. 'Withdraw! Withdraw further down the pass! Quickly!'

Their forces raced back as the creatures pursued. For a few terrible minutes, the Ice Trolls were racing after them as their legs pumped endlessly. Running in armor is not easy, even when you don't have psychotic beast races hurling projectiles after you. Several axes hit the trees near the forces of Lordaeron. Finally, however the Ice Trolls lost interest and fled back to their villages.

'We'll retrace our steps.' said Arthas 'If we slip into the eastern pass quickly, they won't be able to muster against us. If we find any ice trolls in that pass, we'll deal with them the old fashioned way.'

'Yes sir,' said Falric 'but for the record, I think we could wipe the creatures out with little trouble.'

They made their way back to the pass, and quickly went onwards, keeping to the trees to avoid being seen. However as they pressed on they suddenly came to a force of Ice Trolls upon a hill. They hurled their axes down upon the forces of Lordaeron, who charged to meet them without orders. Falric ran an ice troll through, only for one of their priests to heal the wound. An axe took a footman in the leg, only for him to return to the fight moments later, healed by the priests of the Alliance. Arthas knocked off several heads, and no spell could heal that.

For a few minutes, the fighting continued, before finally the forces of Lordaeron overwhelmed the ice trolls and set upon their priests. After a gruesome bloodletting, all the trolls lay dead at their feet. No one had been killed.

'Come,' said Arthas 'let's continue north. The colony is, or was, north of here.'

They pressed on northward until the cliffs gave way westward. As they crossed into the pass, they could see a great host of forest trolls waiting around, leering at them. Falric looked like he wanted to initiate hostilities, but he held his tongue. They crossed unmolested however, and soon were climbing up a series of hills into the highlands. Finally, after a journey which had altogether taken perhaps three days, they came within sight of a series of rugged buildings built on a hill. Several of them were damaged, however, and a great many dwarves were standing at walls built around it.

'Ah,' said Arthas 'the colony. We'll set up our base there.'

Even as they approached, however, there was a sound of gunfire and the men scattered. Arthas leaped behind a tree. 'We're under attack! Take cover!'

For a few more moments the gunfire continued, before abruptly halting. Footsteps could be heard as a number of people trudged down the hill through the snows to meet them. Arthas turned around the tree and saw the last person he'd ever expected to see. He was a blonde dwarf, tall for his kind, with a gun slung over his shoulder, and wielding an axe and a hammer.

'Bloody hell!' cried the Dwarf 'Your not undead! You're all alive!'

'Muradin?' asked Arthas 'Muradin Bronzebeard, is that you?!'

Muradin recognized him and rushed forward to clasp Arthas by the hands. 'Damn boy. I never expected you'd be the one to come to our rescue!'

'Rescue?' asked Arthas 'Muradin, I didn't even know you were here.' He realized suddenly that he had all but forgotten about the colony. Just as planned really, that was why it was made. To be forgotten. There was an awkward silence.

Muradin let go and smiled. 'Just the same lad, I could use your help. My mates and I were attacked and got separated. I'd appreciate any backup you could give me.'

'Of course, I'll help, Muradin.' said Arthas 'Let's move!'

'Uh…' Muradin paused 'we may need to wait on that, actually. This colony is in pretty bad shape, and its likely to come under attack soon.'

'Right,' said Arthas 'of course.' He looked to a number of workmen who had come with them. 'You men, set about repairing this town at once. Falric,'

'Yes, milord?'

'send runners to Marwynn, tell them to begin coming to this location. Mal'ganis'citadel lies somewhere within this arctic wastes, and we need to crush his standing forces before the fiend will be vulnerable to attack. Order them to defend themselves if attacked, but not to seek a confrontation with the natives.'

'I'll send a few of my boys along with them.' said Muradin 'These hills can get mighty tricky sometimes, and it'll be for the best if they have a guide.'

'Do it.' said Arthas 'And Muradin, I need to know whose in charge here?'

'Uh…' Muradin paused. 'that would be me lad.'

'I know that,' said Arthas 'what I meant to say was who was in charge of the colony before you got here?'

'Ah, of course.' said Muradin 'That would be Captain Luc Valonforth?'

'Bring me to him.' said Arthas 'I will speak with him at once.'

Muradin led him into the town, and as he walked, Arthas took note of the people. They were thin, and some looked hungry. Their faces were care worn, and they looked downtrodden and resentful. Murmurs of spite came from them as they onwards, and Arthas could not help but feel he deserved them.

Luc Valonforth was a medium sized, short blonde haired man with a scraggly beard. He was a bit thinner than Arthas remembered, but he saluted smartly as the Prince arrived in his office. 'Prince Arthas this is an unexpected pleasure, the men and I are honored by your presence-'

'You may dispense with the pleasantries, Captain Valonheart.' said Arthas 'I am here to make war on the undead scourge.'

'Thank goodness,' said Valonforth 'we'd thought we'd be overwhelmed. If Muradin hadn't arrived before now we would have been.'

'I need information,' said Arthas 'maps, a list of our resources, and I need soldiers. Unless I'm mistaken, many of the population of this colony are veterans of the second war. Are they not?'

'What?' said Falric.

'Yes sir,' said Valonforth. 'of course. But it might not be wise to arm them. Afterall, they were judged-'

'I'm not interested in the judgements of high and distant Lords.' snapped Arthas, voice holding far more anger than he'd meant. 'What I want is additional manpower. Find anyone with experience, and tell them that if they aid us against the undead I will do everything in my power to ensure their burden is lightened. Muradin, you've fought to defend these men, I want you to have your subordinates oversee which ones are of decent character to be trusted with arms.'

'I'll see about it, lad.' said Muradin. 'But what is this all about?'

'Undead!' came the call. 'The undead are approaching!'

'The end times are coming, gentlemen.' said Arthas feeling a bitter sense of humor as he unslung his hammer. 'Look busy.'

They rushed out to the wall, and saw a force of undead marching towards a number of outlying farmsteads. Arthas rushed down from the wall, and opened the gates. Out he rushed alongside Muradin, Falric and Valonforth. They reached the farmsteads just in time, and battle was joined between them. Arthas summoned the light to tear through a line of necromancers, while Falric cut down a ghoul. Valonheart speared another, while a number of the others were shot down. A footman was torn to shreds by ravenous creatures, only for them to be hacked to pieces by his comrades.

Arthas kneeled by the broken carcass and reaching out with the light brought the man back from the dead. His flesh knitted back together, and he arose, gasping. At the same time Arthas turned to see that other had fallen. He could not hope to bring back them all.

Suddenly there was a outcry. Great gargoyles of living stone had flown over the cliffs, and were attacking the settlement itself. The ringing of a town bell was heard, as peasants worked to repair the damage inflicted. Muradin's men rushed onto the walls and opened fire with their guns.

The gargoyles rushed too and fro, hurling slashes of dark energy at the dwarves. Several of the beasts fel, but a dwarf had his head struck off. Another ducked behind a crenelation and was saved, before firing his rifle to take down another. Muradin unslung his rifle, took aim, and opened fire. A gargoyles head was blown clean off, and it soared downwards to land with a crash.

As victory was achieved, Arthas posted guards on the farms while Valonheart and Muradin went about their business.

Finally the dwarf returned. 'Lad, I have a bit of an idea. We don't really know where my men are, so I was thinking I'd use a gyrocoptor to scour the area. Would you care to join me?'

'Against my better judgement, yes.' said Arthas. 'Falric, organize the defense of this place. Quickly.'

The gyrocoptor was cramped with only two seats. As its blades began to spin and they lifted off, Arthas watched Muradin at the controls. 'I didn't know you could fly a gyrocoptor!' He shouted over the noise.

'Fly yes!' laughed Muradin 'Land, no!'

Arthas suddenly felt significantly less safe. As they flew over the landscapes, however, had had to admit it was a breathtaking view. Northrend might not have been a pleasant or safe land, but from on high it was beautiful. The snows reflected the sunlight, while the many cliffs hid the darkness within it.

All too soon, however, the land became blighted and Arthas saw a great fortress of the undead. And beyond it lay a single patch of uncorrupted ground, defended by towers. Many dwarves stood by it, firing guns against undead that pressed in on them. 'Muradin, look there!'

Muradin did look. 'Thats them!' he cried 'And their still under attack from the undead.'

'Turn us around,' called Arthas 'we'll head back to camp and prepare our reply!'

As they flew, Arthas was troubled by something. 'Muradin, that settlement they are defending, is it yours? Did Khaz Modan found it?'

'No lad,' said Muradin 'its yours. Before the undead started encroaching the population in these parts grew too high. So Captain Valonforth ordered a second settlement build in that area. I sent a large portion of my boys there to requisition supplies for my own job, and then the undead came out of nowhere. Its been nearly a month!

What the hell brought you lads all the way out here anyway?!'

'Thats not important right now,' said Arthas 'how could the population have swelled?! I was told that the death rate in the Northrend colony was extremely high!'

Muradin said something, but Arthas couldn't hear him over the blades. 'What?!'

'I said it was extremely high!' cried Muradin 'And still is! But after they deported some priests of the light they started a new chapel here, and started teaching people healing magic! It dropped the death rate a bit, and the Alliance kept on sending their unwanted citizens, so here we are!'

'They deported priests of the light?!' cried Arthas 'Why?!'

'Some of them had opinions about how the Lords were treating the lower classes!' called Muradin with a shrug. 'Your father and Admiral Proudmoore wanted nothing to do with this bit of dark business, so it was Genn Graymane and Thoras Trollbane who ran it. Neither of them are what you might call men of great faith! Even after they left the Alliance they kept sending people here!'

Muradin took them in for landing by the settlement, and it seemed he was only joking when he said he did not know how to land it. The engine died, and Arthas leaned back in his seat, feeling a sense of shame. 'This entire colony is a disgrace to the Alliance. My disgrace.'

'It wasn't your idea lad.' said Muradin looking at him somberly. 'You just found the gold.'

'So it would seem,' said Arthas as they got out. 'let's rescue your men, wipe out the scourge and get the hell off this continent.'

They found a great host of men awaiting them. Falric saluted. 'Prince Arthas, Marwynn has sent the forces you requested. There are more on the way.'

'This will be enough.' said Arthas, walking before the men. 'Listen to me, there is an Alliance colony to the north of here that is under siege by the undead. They will all be slaughtered unless we get to them in time. Let's move men! Those dwarves need help!'

Moving forward in great ranks the forces of Lordaeron headed north. The land when you were walking it was far less beautiful, instead it seemed hungry. As though it were about to devour one whole. As the army marched forward they soon came within sight of the undead bastion, looming high above them.

A host of undead stood before them, while spirit towers stood at the ready.

'Lock shields!' called Falric. 'Advance!'

The charge was gradual, and the undead who rushed their defense line found their flailing beaten back by the combined might of the Alliance. Their swords glinted, being driven home to slay the creatures in great droves. Hundreds fell in seconds. Crypt fiends launched their projectiles in vain, as riflemen gunned down their enemies in swaths. Priests marched behind, as the wounded were shifted back behind the line to be healed. Arthas stood at the front, hewing down enemies alongside Muradin, who slammed the ground with his hammer with such force that it threw the undead from their feet. The battle waged on and on until finally, the undead were no more. Thousands had died, and now only the spirit towers remained.

Breaking them was more difficult, for it took many blows upon the dark crystals which launched volleys at them to disable them. Even so, Lordaeron prevailed. Entering into the base itself, they found the cultists and put them to the sword. Some fled, while others were cut down where they stood. The crypts were emptied, the countless bodies within them burned.

Finally the base stood empty, as every unholy creature that might have inhabited it was dead. Muradin and Arthas made their way into the pass, and there found the dwarves who ran to Muradin.

'Muradin,' said their leader. 'we thought we were goners for sure. Whose yer friend?'

'This is Prince Arthas Menethil,' said Muradin 'an old friend. Arthas, this is Baelgun.'

As soon as his name was spoken, Arthas saw Baelgun's face darken. 'Then he's the one responsible for… all this then?' He motioned to the colony.

'I did discover the gold in this region.' admitted Arthas 'However I had no part in the creation of this colony. I was against it, actually.'

'If you say so,' said Baelgun. 'what now?'

Arthas looked up to where a siege tank was standing at the ready, and a mortar withit. 'I think I have a task for your men Baelgun.'

Using the siege weaponry acquired from Baelgun's forces, Arthas destroyed the undead base stone by stone. It was not, strictly speaking, necessary, but it was enormously satisfying. Finally there remained only blighted ground. He only hoped it would heal in time. For now, he saw a force of footmen approaching, led by a woman.

'Prince Arthas,' she called 'I am Faldine! I'm here on behalf of Captain Valonheart to reinforce you.' She paused. 'However, it seems that you didn't need our help.'

'We may yet,' said Arthas 'I still sense the taint of darkness in this land. Like I did before. We have work to do yet.'

At that moment a gyrocopter arrived and a gnome rushed out of it. 'Muradin, it's stupendous! We've found the main undead base of operations!'

'Where is it?' asked Muradin.

'Just west of here, through an icy pass. It's quite large, with a significant garrison.'

'That has to be where Mal'ganis is hiding.' said Arthas 'I want that base leveled!'

'A bit quick on your feet, aren't you lad?' asked Muradin in amusement.

'Every moment we delay is that much more time for Mal'ganis to strengthen his defenses.' stated Arthas 'I want this area secured, and with the reinforcements from Valonforth, that should prove a simple task! Move out!'

They made their way swiftly over the ice of the eastern pass, marching with a haste brought on by rigid training. Arthas felt a rush of enthusiasm as he marched onwards. Soon, soon Mal'ganis would be found and brought to justice. Soon it would be over. They came within sight of the enemy fortifications. Arthas turned to their mortar teams. 'Begin bombarding the defenses. We'll defend you from any attackers. Once you've leveled their towers, we'll move in for the kill.'

Soon the sound of mortars echoed throughout the Fjord as the explosives landed on the spirit towers, tearing huge chunks out of the masonry. Gargoyles and ghouls rushed from the base to assault the mortars and were met by the guns and swords of the Alliance. For a few minutes, the combat waged, as the walls and towers were little by little reduced to rubble. Finally. it was over.

'The towers are destroyed, lad.' said Muradin.

'Excellent,' said Arthas 'move on the other outlying buildings.'

'We're not going to assault?'

'Give Mal'ganis an honorable battle?' asked Arthas 'Like the one he gave our people? No, he's going to watch as we annihilate his defenses before we kill him.'

The barrage continued for the better part of the day. A continuous rain of mortar and lead was sent crashing down upon the defenses. Many times the undead sallied forth to assault the besiegers, and each time the forces of the Alliance defeated them and drove them back. Once a Lich entered the fray, casting dark magic and breezing several soldiers to death in moments.

Yet Arthas summoned the light against the creature, which screamed as Muradin hurled his hammer the spun through the air to shatter its bones. The hammer then returned to Muradin as the bombardment continued.

When the outlying walls fell, they advanced further and did the same to the inner wall. The undead continued to rise to assault them, and many men died that day. Far more than had died in the entire rest of the Northrend campaign so far combined. Even so, they pressed on slaying the cultists to the last and obliterating their unholy places of worship. Necromancers summoned skeletons from the corpses of their fallen fellows to fight for them. Yet these too were eradicated by the Alliance.

The Altar of Darkness was pulled down, its unholy symbols broken to pieces as its pillars were hauled down. The sacrificial pit was filled in, its runes blotted out. Cheers of victory came from the troops as the last undead building crumbled to the ground.

Only when the entire area had been obliterated, did Arthas and Muradin stand atop a blighted hill, standing there without real direction. Arthas gazed upon the destruction he had wrought, and the broken bodies of his enemies. They numbered in endless thousands upon thousands, and in return, the Alliance had lost perhaps a few hundred. Of those, Arthas had returned many to life.

He turned around to face his friend. 'Alright Muradin, what were you doing up here anyway?'

'Well lad,' said Muradin 'there's an ancient waygate that lies somewhere in this glacial wasteland. Supposedly, it transports you to a hidden vault where a Runeblade named Frostmourne is held. We came here to recover Frostmourne, but the closer we came to finding the waygate, the more undead we encountered.'

 _'_ _That could prove to be useful indeed.'_ the thought sounded like his own, echoing his own words. Yet it did not seem entirely his.

Arthas' pondering was turned against him, as he turned to face Falric approaching him from behind. The men were watching them, waiting for his words. They had won a great victory here today, and now they wanted to go home to tell their friends and family. Unless Arthas was completely wrong about Falric's report, they were in for a rude awakening.

'Prince Arthas,' said Falric 'we haven't found any trace of Mal'ganis.'

'No matter.' said Arthas 'He can't hide from me forever. Captain, I want you to establish this site as our primary base.' He noticed a look of disappointment and confusion upon the faces of the men, but he brushed it off.

Falric looked as if he wanted to say more. Yet he did not. 'Yes, milord.'

As Falric went off to perform his duties, Faldine approached. 'Prince Arthas, there is something important you should know.'

'What is it?' asked Arthas.

'Some of these cultists,' she said 'I know their faces. Many of these men were originally sent to the colony. They disappeared, we'd assumed they had been killed, or gone off into the wastes on their own.

The enemy has drawn at least part of their strength from the colony.'

'I see,' said Arthas 'they did the same in Lordaeron. Our enemy uses the sins of the past against us. However it changes nothing, take your men and return to Captain Valonfort. I leave you in charge of protecting the town, and keeping order in the name of the Alliance of Lordaeron.'

'Of course milord!' she said 'I'll do you proud!'

As her forces made her way off, Arthas turned to Muradin. 'Once our forces have been fully disembarked, I will need to explain the full details of this colony. The truth cannot be hidden from them any longer. You should bring your command staff, I will also recount exactly what transpired to bring us here.'

* * *

Within the shadowy halls of Drak'theron Keep, Mal'ganis lounged upon his dark throne, considering events. It was a half lit area, with only a little pale light shooting through the windows for the benefit of his minions. Mal'ganis could see in the dark. The great double doors at the far end of the hall opened and a Necromancer entered between the six black pillars and bowed before him. 'Lord Mal'ganis, I have come from the outpost observing the Daggercap Bay.'

Mal'ganis leaned forward in his throne with interest. 'What news, necromancer?'

'Milord,' said the necromancer 'Daggercap Bay has fallen. Our forces there have been completely annihilated, the fortresses are in ruins. One of the Lich King's Lich's has been killed as well. In under a week, we have been dealt a terrible defeat.'

'Impressive,' said Mal'ganis 'most impressive. Did he bring forth the full might of his forces?'

'No sir,' said the necromancers 'our shades tell us that he had only brought out perhaps a third of his full military might. We… we may be hard pressed to halt his invasion.'

'I had wondered about the wisdom of Ner'zhul's choice.' reflected Mal'ganis 'Yet now I see, left to his own devices the Paladin could be a terrible threat. Yet properly channeled, the Prince may become the greatest of our agents.

Call together our forces, rally our reserves from every corner of Northrend. We will need a great army for what comes next.' He paused. 'In the meantime, send a task force to the shore. Tell them that once the ships have been emptied, the undead are to cut off their ability to retreat.

I do not want the young prince to have a chance of escape. Things have become far too interesting to stop here.'

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

Well, here we have chapter eight of Wrath of the Light. It was actually pretty fun to write. If you haven't already figured out what Arthas was hinting at in this chapter, it will be explained in the next. Now some of you might be wondering, why the divergence point?

There are a few reasons for it. First of all, for the purposes of this story, bases are villages. But if that's the case, I have to explain why there are villages in Northrend, a hitherto unexplored continent. My explanation will be spelled out in the next one, and the backstory to it will be revealed.

For now, I wanted to make it clear that the Alliance was not always doomed to failure. That they were a legitimate threat to the scourge, and that had things gone differently they could have ended the threat of the Burning Legion right there. Thus I had the assault on Daggercap Bay be a massive victory, large enough that had Mal'ganis ended up dead, the Alliance could have called it a final battle packed it up and gone home.

The key thing is that the scourge has literal mountains of corpses built up over fifteen years fighting everyone on the continent. So they can just kind of walk this defeat off, so long as a more serious one doesn't follow.

 **Edit:**

Changed Luke Valonheart to the proper spelling, which is Luc Valonforth. For some reason I always remember it as Luke Valonheart. Whatever the case, I changed his backstory from canon. In canon he was part of Arthas' expedition. In this version, he was there long before Arthas showed up. I also made a few corrections to grammar and added a bit of description to the first scene in order to better establish how Lordaeron has changed.


	9. The Calm before the Storm

**Chapter Nine: The Calm before the Storm**

It was a great hall lit by torches that never burned out, with a round table at the center. The center of the table was an open circle, and within it was a roaring fire pit which brought warmth to the freezing days. Blue banners bearing the symbols of the Alliance member nations were on the walls. Several boxes of winter supplies had been stored here, and had not yet been cleared away. It was here that Arthas and his command staff met to decide matters.

They began the meeting by recounting to Muradin and Luc everything which had happened up until this point. Muradin remained silent and stoic, listening, while Luc looked more and more horrified as events proceeded.

'My…my family lives in Harthglen,' said Luc after Arthas finished describing events.

'They may have moved elsewhere,' said Marwynn, looking disturbed and sympathetic. 'I don't think I met anyone named Valonforth while I was there.' It was a small hope, but it was something.

Arthas continued his story, leaving out nothing although he somewhat abbreviated the culling of Stratholme. When he had finally completed his story, Muradin and Luc looked at him in a new light. There was utter silence for a few moments.

'Damn boy,' said Muradin 'you've been through hell. As soon as we're done with our business here I promise you I'll help you sort this mess out.'

'Thank you Muradin,' said Arthas 'but in truth our cause is best served here. Lordaeron is secure for now, but so long as Mal'ganis remains alive that security is but an illusion. Once he is dead, the scourge will lose direction and we will be able to destroy them little by little. Until that time, his ability to use the dead against us allows him to muster nearly limitless forces.'

'Still, he seems to want you here doesn't he?' asked Muradin 'Why?'

'He wants to eliminate a serious threat to his plans on his own home field.' said Arthas 'Or at least that is my belief.' As he said this his mind returned to his meeting with Jaina, how she had said it sounded like a trap. Perhaps she was right.

'Well whatever the case, that doesn't answer any of my questions.' said Marwynn 'I've been talking with some of the colonists here. Apparently, many of them were grabbed from their beds and shipped here. Others were arrested without cause and sent off without trial.

Most of them were from Stromgarde and Gilneas, but there are a few who were from Stormwind and Khaz Modan. No one from Alterac of course, I don't think this place existed when Alterac was still a Kingdom.

With all due respect, my Prince, what the hell is going on here? Why does this place exist, and why isn't it on any records?'

This was the part Arthas had been dreading for some time now. He swallowed his pride and spoke: 'Do you remember that tour of sorts we took through the northlands? We fought many bandits, slew Searinox, saved a child from gnolls and made a name for ourselves?'

'Yes, I do.' said Marwynn 'It was fun, but I don't see what it has to do with anything?'

'I deliberately got myself sidetracked on that mission because I wanted to make a name for myself.' said Arthas 'I wanted to prove that I was more than some pampered Prince given the title of Paladin for political reasons. Well, I succeeded. But after that, it still wasn't enough. I found myself increasingly ill at ease with my duties in court, because I realized that now I was being considered a worthy successor to my Father and Uther.

I didn't feel like I deserved even that, and I wanted to do more than be a worthwhile successor, I wanted to exceed them. I wanted to do something they had never done.

So I arranged an expedition to Northrend. Luc Valonheart was the captain I choose to command it since he'd had experience in Khaz Modan. Everyone told me that I was being a fool, that Northrend was incredibly dangerous, that there was nothing worthwhile to be had.

I didn't listen. So my Father outright forbade me from going. I ignored him, slipped my guards and sailed on with a crew to land here, naming the place Howling Fjord. I pressed onwards through the darkness and snow, negotiating with the various ice troll tribes for safe passage. We had a few skirmishes here and there.

Then we found gold, a whole vein of it in the side of the mountain. The ice trolls don't do much mining, most of what they have they take from the surface. Yet there are vast quantities of untapped minerals scattered throughout Northrend which no one has ever touched. We pressed on further and further until finally, my comrades begged me to go back. They had had enough of snow and ice.

I wanted to continue because… I sensed something. A lingering darkness in the heart of the land which fascinated me drew me ever onwards. I think it was Mal'ganis, or something darker, and I wish I had pressed on. If I had perhaps I might have learned of the scourge before it became a threat.

But my comrades were terrified, and so we returned to our ships and sailed back to Lordaeron. Almost at once we were set upon by guards and taken back for the scolding of our lives.' He smiled slightly at the memory before the smile died. 'Then I told them about the gold. The Alliance Council was present at the time, I still remember how Genn Graymane and Thoras Trollbane's eyes lit up as if something was possessing them. Perhaps something was.

Whatever the case my Father wasn't even slightly interested. Yet he was overruled as I explained everything I had seen, the arrangements I had made. Before I knew what was happening there was talk of sending an expedition to Northrend to acquire the vaunted gold. I was personally asked by Thoras Trollbane to arrange for funding.

In retrospect he was undermining my Fathers authority, but I was too naive to see it.

So I did, I talked with a number of nobles, convinced them to put their money behind the venture. And soon enough an expedition was sent to Northrend. It was a disaster, most of the colony was killed in the first months, but they sent back gold. Suddenly I found the Alliance leaders pressing me to convince people to go to the colony, to replace those who had been lost.

I didn't want to, but finally, I agreed but only after making sure to invest my own money in ensuring that they had the best of everything. Once again, I appealed to people with talk of adventure and getting rich. I more or less lied through my teeth, and I got very good at it. People trusted me, I could see it in their eyes. I was leading them to their deaths, and they didn't even know it. Or maybe they didn't care. Their incomprehensible faith in me, combined with their greed and lust for adventure conspired against their good senses. They would leap into a pool of sharks if I told them there was gold at the bottom.

It was… terrifying and wonderful to have that much power.

The next expedition wasn't… it wasn't as much of a disaster. But… so many people died, I read the documentation. The records written by frostbitten hands. I knew I couldn't be a part of it anymore.

Once again Thoras Trollbane and Genn Graymane approached me, requesting politely that I assist them in getting people motivated. I told them to go to hell because they weren't going anywhere else. In those words. They told me that we cannot back out now because of a few shortfalls. They pleaded with me to see reason. They said it was too late to back out. When I continued to refuse, Thoras Trollbane grew angry and left. Graymane tried to threaten me. I had to have him forcibly removed from my office.'

'I remember that!' said Falric 'I was wondering why they wanted to meet with you instead of your Father.'

Arthas nodded. 'After that, both of them left the Alliance. I think they were using my plan to recoup some of their losses, though I expect Graymane would have left the moment it was no longer convenient. I think I paid for that wall he built. Whatever the case, I'd hoped that the colony would die. That I would be able to evacuate any survivors. I even made arrangements with Admiral Proudmoore to send ships.

However, the Lords of the Alliance had already found another source of manpower. Across the lands, individual Lord emptied their prisons and sent their undesirables off to Northrend, often without proper equipment or winter clothing.

My Father put a stop to it in Lordaeron and forbade the practice, but that didn't have any effect on the others. In the aftermath of the second war, the Kings of the Alliance woke up one day to find that their populations were armed to the teeth and experienced fighters. We had to mobilize everything we had to stop the Horde. Before that battles were mostly fought between knights and elites, the peasants just had to suffer.

Now the peasants had a very real bargaining chip. They could fight. And some of them had dangerous ideas about revolution, and the equality of all men. These ideas could prove disastrous for reasons which by this stage must seem all too obvious.

Whatever the case, my Father didn't have to worry. He had been a benevolent King for his entire reign, was loved by his people, and quickly arranged for a number of reforms that eased the concerns of the populace. Kul'tiras had always been a fairly militaristic state, so not much had changed.

Many of the others, however, had no desire to change their systems or decrease their power for the sake of those deemed beneath them, and instead choose to create secret police, such as the SI:7. Groups whose purpose was to weed out potential dissenters and remove them from the scene.

Disappearances began to happen rather frequently. They were blamed on forest trolls, and gnolls, and used to justify purges. No one was safe.'

'I should like to say a few words in defense of my brother, Magni.' said Muradin quickly 'While it's true he did send some of his people here, they weren't prisoners and it wasn't as harsh for us. See, Khaz Modan can get pretty bloody cold in the winter, and we're well used to it by now.

Getting sent to Northrend was more of an unpleasant bit of manual labor to enforce some discipline, than a death sentence.'

'It's true,' said Valonforth 'the death rate among dwarves is very low.'

'Whatever the case,' said Arthas 'the colony had taken on a monstrous life of its own. Murders were happening there on a daily basis, people lived in fear constantly. The shipments were beginning to fall behind. What little law there was weak, unable to enforce order. So I went to Luc Valonforth who at the time was the Captain of Harthglen. I believe you can tell this part of the story.'

'Yes,' said Luc 'Prince Arthas approached me and asked me if I'd be interested in taking a force of knights and taking control of the colony to enforce order in it. He appealed to Prince Muradin to send experts on winter survival, and all other sorts of people to teach the colonists how to survive. He also ordered that once I had taken control of the colony, I was to stop paying Graymane and Trollbane in gold.

Instead, their shares were to be used to support the colony. I believe he… well…'

'I was hoping that when the profits dried up, they would stop sending people here. I doubted they would be willing to risk war, and they certainly didn't deserve the profits from the venture.' Arthas sighed. 'I was wrong. The Northrend colony had mutated from a dangerous but profitable venture, into a discreet method of execution.

This… even though I have never before laid eyes on this place I built every stone of it. Every body which lies buried in this place's graveyards was created by my actions. This colony was created by me, despite all my efforts to stop it.

Not by my hand or will, perhaps, but… it was my expedition, my discovery, my fault.'

There was utter silence as the group sat around the table, a bitter feeling running through them. The fire was burning low, and Falric fed a few more logs into it. Finally, Muradin spoke. 'Just the same lad, at least we now have a base from which to deal with this Mal'ganis bastard.'

'Yes, I suppose something constructive has come of it.' said Arthas and he was once more the commander. 'Our first priority is to find our enemy. Muradin, I want your best scouts to comb the land for any sign of the undead. If they find an undead bastion, they are to return to report it.'

'Right you are, lad.' said Muradin 'I'll get Baelgun on it right away.'

'Thank you. Valonforth, I want you to ease off recruiting soldiers. Instead, I want you to send out hunters and forage parties to gather food.' said Arthas. 'Our supplies will last for some time, and I've already arranged for additional ships. But I'd rather we be self-sufficient in case of any problems.'

'As you wish, Prince Arthas.

'Marwynn, how is the port progressing?' asked the Prince.

'We've established a series of defenses around the shore.' said Marwynn 'And I've left a permanent garrison. If anyone wants to seize control of the ships, they will have a hell of a time doing so.' He paused. 'There is a problem, though. The ships are rather closely packed. If someone were to send a fire ship into the midsts of our fleet, it could strand us here.'

'Wonderful,' reflected Arthas 'well we can't afford to space them out evenly across the coast. That would just be asking the locals to burn them down. We'll try to find a safer harbor later, for now, keep a careful watch. Falric, how is the base progressing?'

'Well milord,' said Falric 'we've erected shelters enough to house half the men, the rest can take shelter in the colony to await us finishing the others. I've begun construction of static defenses on the three passes leading to it. If the undead attack us, we'll be ready.'

'And morale?' asked Arthas.

'Morale is good,' said Falric 'our recent victory has the men in high spirits. They feel like the war is already won. But…'

'Yes?'

'They feel like the war is already won.' said Falric 'We don't know where our enemy is, or even if we have an enemy left to fight. You must admit, it's possible that Mal'ganis has just lost the last of his holdings, and merely fled from the fortress before we could lay hands on him.'

'It's possible,' admitted Arthas 'but I doubt it. If he is a fugitive, then we'll have to change strategies. For now, we assume that his fortress might be just over the next hill.'

'If I might jump in, lad,' said Muradin 'the locals could be of some use to us here. They know these lands better than anyone, and we believe they have been fighting the undead for quite some time.'

'What are you suggesting?' asked Arthas.

'I'll head out and meet with a couple of troll and ogre chieftains.' said Muradin 'They might be able to point us in the right direction. I doubt they'll be sad to see the undead go.'

'Very well,' said Arthas 'do as you like. But be careful, we can't trust their kind.'

'I always am.' said Muradin. 'What will you do?'

'I am going to write a report to my Father,' said Arthas 'he'll need to know what's happening here.' A sudden grim certainty came over him. 'Before Uther gives his own spin on events.'

The group split off from each other, each going their own way.

* * *

A month and a half after the Lordaeron Fleet departed for Northrend, King Terenas sat at a round table in an ornate meeting room. Where once there had been seated the many Lords of the Alliance, now there were a group of people that almost entirely consisted of his subjects or the mages of the Kirin Tor.

Silence overtook them as they looked over various documents which had been provided them. No one wanted to speak first because they had an agenda they were ashamed of. Finally, King Terenas spoke: 'I have successfully identified the plagued grain and disposed of it. The Silver Hand is working hard to ensure that the land is purified, but it is a difficult and lengthy process or so I hear.

Uther, would you care to elaborate?'

Uther took a breath. 'The forces of darkness are directly opposed by the forces of light. Some believe that they are equals, while others hold that one is superior over the other, and one is a weaker party in defiance of the universe's true nature.

I myself have never quite decided. What I do know is that darkness is currently in the ascent. Sometimes there are periods where one power is stronger, or seems stronger than the other. It is in one such period that we are entering.

This isn't over. I feel it in my heart.' He lapsed into silence.

'Wonderful,' said King Terenas 'Prince Kael'thas were you successful in gaining support for further High Elven intervention?'

Kael'thas looked like a man hunted. The blonde elf opened his mouth to speak, yet no words came out. He closed it and looked down at the table. 'My… my Father did put out a call for priests of the light, and sorcerers from Quel'thalas to volunteer to go to Lordaeron in order to aid in the assault. Officially they are there of their own volition, against his orders.'

'That was months ago, Kael.' said Terenas 'Why are you bringing this up now?' He had the feeling he already knew the answer.

'My father has looked over the reports,' said Kael, looking up. 'he believes that Stratholme was Mal'ganis' masterstroke, and that the war is winding down. Because of this, he has ordered the withdrawal of all the priest and mage units back to Quel'thalas.

I… I managed to convince him that a gradual withdrawal would be in order. To only pull back a little at a time over a period of a month or so. I…' He looked down at the table again. 'I'm sorry.'

Silence filled the room. 'This is absurd!' said Calia 'Do you think your people can come up with any more ingenious ways to show their ingratitude? Perhaps steal all our weapons away from us so that we'd have to attack the scourge with nothing but sticks and harsh language?!'

'Calm down, Calia.' said Uther 'This is not the time.' He looked to Kael. 'If the scourge gains victory here, where do you think they will go next, Kael? If not for the sake of humanity then for your own sake, please don't do this.'

'It's out of my hands.' said Kael bitterly 'I am not the King of Quel'thalas, were I would have sent forces to aid you months ago. For that reason, my father and I have been quite distant of late. I have no intention of leaving human lands myself. If things become truly dire, my presence should force my father to act.'

'Assuming the undead don't kill Quel'thalas before they kill Dalaran.' stated Calia. Everyone looked at her. 'What? It's what I would do if I commanded the scourge. Dalaran is taking this war really seriously, which means they are going to play an active role against me no matter what. If I were to knock out Lordaeron, the mages of the Kirin Tor would be scrambling to get together the shattered remnants of the Lordaeron army.

In that time I could assault Quel'thalas, and wipe it out. Then I'd turn around and finish off Dalaran.'

'You make it sound easy,' said Kael, voice cold.

'It would be,' said Calia 'you only survived the second war because humanity came to back you up. In this hypothetical humanity is already on its way out. I'd hack my way through your precious forests, make an alliance with the Forest Trolls and sack Silvermoon in an afternoon-'

'Enough!' said King Terenas 'This is no time to be arguing among ourselves! Prince Kael'thas I thank you for your efforts. Every little bit helps.' He sighed. 'There is some good news, fortunately. Varian has successfully defeated the gnolls who were causing his nation so much trouble. With that done, he says he means to send one of his Lieutenants to aid us. He can't come himself, but he is sending a core of some of Stormwind's best knights.'

'Which lieutenant?' asked Uther hopefully. 'Aiden Wrynn? It's been some years since we saw each other.'

King Terenas looked to Uther with a guarded expression. 'I'm afraid that Varian and Aiden have something of a running dispute. Neither of them trust or like each other, and Varian does not want to risk giving Aiden any more battle glory.'

'Bolvar then?' asked Uther, sounding disappointed.

King Terenas remained silent.

'Garithos?' asked Uther in resignation.

'Yes.' said King Terenas with a sigh.

'With respect, King Terenas,' said Kael'thas 'Grand Marshall Garithos has a reputation for not cooperating well with non human races.'

'He tolerates dwarves well enough.' reflected King Terenas 'And with no disrespect intended, given our rapidly thinning list of allies I expect that shouldn't be much of a concern. Besides it's not as I'm going to make him the supreme high commander of the Alliance armies.

I mean to assign him to Antonidas, since I have no shortage of competent strategists.'

'Speaking of which,' said Calia 'where is Antonidas?'

'At war.' said Uther 'It seems that while we were fighting the undead, the Blackrock Clan sensed weakness and began raiding again. Lord Antonidas is leading a task force to drive them back.'

'One of these days we need to find a permanent solution to those beasts.' reflected Kael'thas. 'They have been a thorn in our side for too long.'

'Perhaps we should make them our next target,' reflected Terenas 'Whatever the case, Jaina Proudmoore, I believe you wanted to speak with me?'

Jaina straightened her hair, took a deep breath and spoke. 'Yes, I am about to launch an expedition to Kalimdor. And I would like your assistance.'

'Don't tell me you believe that rambling prophet?' asked Terenas in resignation.

'I have to.' said Jaina 'He saw this coming, all of it. I sincerely hope I'm wrong to trust him, I hope Arthas can end this on his own. But if he's right, I want to give the people of Lordaeron a fighting chance. I've already made arrangements with the various Kings of the Alliance, and some who are not part of it.

They see the potential for profit in such a venture and are willing to assist. I am being given command of the expedition.'

'You're leaving Lordaeron in its darkest hour, girl.' said Uther, voice stern.

'He's right, milady,' said Kael'thas 'think this through-'

'I have thought it through, Kael.' said Jaina 'I didn't make this decision lightly. Look, even if the prophet is talking complete nonsense, there are countless refugees from the plague lands. Unless they are resettled, there will be famine and lawlessness even if we win. I'll take them, and anyone who wants to go with me and make them a new home.

I'd like your permission to take some of your people for this expedition, King Terenas.'

King Terenas remained silent for a very long time. He was aware that there was probably no harm in cooperating. However, his pride wanted him to refuse, to stay the course, to whatever end. He shook his pride away. 'I don't see the harm in it, and I must do everything in my power to ensure my people are well off. You have my permission Jaina, but I will be expecting you to make months reports on the colonies progress.'

'That doesn't sound too difficult.' said Jaina. 'I'm probably going to need advice anyway.'

'I… might be of some assistance.' said Kael suddenly. 'Some among my people have always sought to go abroad and seek adventure. Many of them are now in Lordaeron. I might be able to convince them to sign on to this journey of yours. They might be of great assistance.

Of course, the record will show that they acted against my orders.'

'Very cunning,' reflected Terenas 'and it has an element of karma to it.'

'Jaina,' said Calia suddenly. 'what other nations have you approached with this idea?'

'Khaz Modan, Stromgarde, Stormwind, Gilneas-'

'Wait, Gilneas?' asked Kael 'How did you get in?'

'I teleported.' said Jaina.

'…Graymane spent years warding his nation from teleporting.' said Kael.

'Really?' asked Jaina 'I didn't notice. I must have bypassed them.'

'I'm more surprised you convinced Graymane to help?' said Terenas ruefully. 'Even I've never been able to do that.'

'No,' said Jaina 'I helped Darius Crowley stage a coup. Then he promised me his support.'

There was a stunned silence.

'Coup?' asked Terenas.

'…How exactly did you subvert Graymane's most trusted subordinate?' asked Calia.

'Well see I teleported onto the walls dressed in the outfit of a Gilneas wizard,' said Jaina 'I sort of blended in, and talked with Darius Crowley. It turned out he was disgusted with Graymane's actions, or lack of thereof. The breaking point was when he was forced to watch a group of refugees pleading for assistance be torn apart by the undead because Graymane refused to let him sally forth.

I convinced him that the best course of action was for Graymane to be removed from power. He got together his loyal soldiers, and I teleported them all into the middle of the palace, where they quickly took complete control. Nobody was even killed, and Graymane was deposited in the darkest dungeon of his own castle.

It seems that Graymane's policy of shutting himself in has come to its logical extreme.

If you haven't heard about it, it's because it happened yesterday.' There wasn't an ounce of pride in her tone, her voice was matter of fact. Everyone stared at her, and she shifted uneasily. 'Why? Should I have done something else?'

Suddenly King Terenas burst out laughing, and the laughter soon spread to the rest of the room. Years of stress were thrown off, as Terenas felt younger than he had in years. Finally, they regained their composure. 'Well done, girl.' said King Terenas 'Well done.'

'It is perhaps the best news we've heard in months.' reflected Uther.

'With any luck, King Crowley will be more reasonable than his predecessor.' said Kael'thas.

'Now,' said King Terenas, shifting some of the papers at his hands. 'I believe we should turn our attention to a darker matter, my son's expedition to Northrend I have recently received reports from him. They are largely favorable. It seems that the northrend colony was not overwhelmed by ice trolls as we first assumed.

Instead it has survived, and has become the base of operations for the army. My son also reports to me that he found Muradin's lost expedition. They had been out of contact for some months, and now they are with him.

They destroyed multiple undead strongholds in the first days of the operation, and using the assistance of the native ice trolls have located many smaller outposts which have been put to the sword. By all accounts the invasion is progressing excellently.

Which is amazing, given that it was undertaken on a whim.'

'We should withdraw it,' said Kael'thas bluntly. 'at once.'

Terenas looked to him. 'Might I hear your reasoning?'

'Have we not been speaking of it this entire meeting?' asked Kael. 'Lordaeron is under siege. Yes, for now we have the advantage, but with my people abandoning the fight that advantage could disappear at any moment.

The Cult of the Damned is still out there. They could resurge, and this is no time to be indulging your sons fantasies of revenge.'

'Your making it sound as if he hasn't accomplished anything?' asked Jaina 'If he hadn't gone to northrend the Prince of Khaz Modan could be dead right now.'

'I will grant that the expedition has not been entirely fruitless.' said Kael, sounding annoyed for admission. 'However it was undertaken too quickly, for all the wrong reasons, and is a waste of our strength. The colony is secure, Muradin and his men are safe. The undead have been bloodied in Northrend, and it will take them some time before they recover.

Now is an ideal time to withdraw and deal with matters at home.'

'Arthas is angry, he's vengeful, and he's in no mindset to fight a war.' said Calia 'Someone who is thinking rationally doesn't completely ignore the chain of command, and launch an expedition to Northrend on the drop of a hat.'

'Lord Uther,' said King Terenas 'what are your thoughts?'

Uther remained silent for a long, long time. 'I've seen this before in my fellow Paladins. Its why I have never believed in the retribution part of the code. You spend so much time fighting the enemy that you can suddenly see nothing else.

Everything becomes a means to achieving victory over that enemy, or becomes an enemy unto itself. And one day you become the enemy you hate. I know in my heart that if Arthas stays in Northrend it will end in disaster. The boy needs time away from the front, time to mourn his losses and regain some measure of peace. He is in no state to lead this… crusade that he has called.'

'This is the perfect time to retreat.' said Calia quickly. 'If Arthas pulls out now, he will have staged a lightning assault on the undead on their own shores. He will have rescued a Prince of Khaz Modan, and saved Lordaeron. It would be the essence of simplicity to make this withdrawal the return of a conquering hero. The longer we stay in Northrend, though, the more likely it is to turn into a humiliating route.'

'This is all going according to Mal'ganis' plan.' said Jaina suddenly.

'What?' said Kael'thas 'How can you say that?'

'Think about it,' said Jaina 'up until now we've assumed that his plan was to engineer an unstoppable army using the plague. But that doesn't add up, does it?'

'I don't follow.' said Kael.

'Kel'thuzad told us where Mal'ganis would be.' said Jaina 'If Stratholme were indeed the scourge's masterstroke he wouldn't have. If Arthas' hadn't been given that information we would have probably gotten to Stratholme too late to do anything.'

'Perhaps Kel'thuzad was trying to sabotage his master.' suggested Uther 'Infighting is not unknown to the forces of darkness.'

'No,' said Jaina 'I saw him die. His last words were proclaiming the beginning of the end for Lordaeron. He wasn't in this for personal gain, Kel'thuzad is devoted to the cause, however twisted it is. The grain stores were already empty when we arrived to confront him, the caravan long gone. So why would he even stand around there waiting for us, let along tip us off to his masters location? I think he wanted us at Stratholme.'

'Harthglen,' said Uther in dawning realization.

'Hmm?' asked King Terenas.

'When Arthas arrived in Harthglen, it was just after the plagued grain had been distributed to the populace.' said Uther 'Perhaps a day or two. Arthas spent several days fighting off the undead before I could get to him. After that he spent several days making his way to Stratholme. Yet when he arrived, the populace had yet to turn.

I spoke with some of the men who fought at Stratholme but didn't go to northrend. They said that the populace only started to turn after Mal'ganis appeared and taunted Arthas about his intentions.'

'What if he can control when the plague takes effect?' asked Jaina, taking his meaning. 'What if everything which we have seen has happened before our eyes only because Mal'ganis wanted us to see it?'

'But if thats the case,' said King Terenas 'what does it all mean? What could he hope to accomplish.'

'I have known men who paint pictures in their spare time.' said Kael'thas slowly. 'They do not profit by them, they do so simply for the pleasure of showing them to others. Perhaps this Mal'ganis thinks of himself as an artist, and desires someone to appreciate his handiwork.' A shudder at the thought ran through them. 'And he might not be done painting.'

'Kael is right,' said Jaina 'this is more than just a military campaign. Mal'ganis has been specifically targeting Arthas in order to draw him to Northrend. We have to get him out of there, and we have to do it quickly.'

'Yes, and what if he refuses?' asked Kael 'He began this campaign without your consent, and he had enough of a hold over his men to get them to disregard the chain of command. He might very well mutiny.'

'We'll put my name and Lord Uthers on the order.' said King Terenas 'I may not fight on the front any more, but I still hold sway over my own subjects. And Uther is universally respected. Our combined authority should be more than sufficient to convince the men.'

'Then lets get to it.' said Kael 'The sooner we get those forces back to Lordaeron, the better.'

'…I should probably get back to planning this expedition.' reflected Jaina suddenly. 'If you'll excuse me, gentlemen I have much work to do.' Arising from her seat she teleported away.

'I should also see if the Kirin Tor needs me for anything.' said Kael, before he too was gone.

King Terenas leaned back in his seat, covering his face with his hands. 'A storm is coming, isn't it Uther?'

'Yes,' said Uther. 'I believe so.'

'Do you think we'll weather it?' asked Terenas.

'We may yet, your majesty.' said Uther 'We may yet.' Yet there was no conviction in his voice.

Both men suddenly felt their age more than ever.

* * *

In Stratholme the burning fires amidst the ruins went on day and night. They had made a significant dent in the cadavers that remained. Yet even so there were still corpses to consume. Bodies to burn. As a group of workmen hurled yet another corpse onto the inferno which had raged for week after week.

'How many more of these damn stiffs do we have to burn before we're done boss?' asked a man, as he hauled one more body onto the flames, this one a women, though you wouldn't know it from the way the body had become bloated and deformed.

'Well,' said the boss 'by my estimates we've done about six thousand by this point.'

'That leaves nineteen thousand to go then.' laughed another.

Perhaps they should have been more somber, however after endless hours of toil they had become used to the bodies. Now they had gained a sort of ease about their grim work which they had not thought was possible. 'Alright you lads, back to work. Prince Arthas wants these corpses burned by the time he gets back from making more of them in northrend.'

Suddenly they stopped as a low growling sound could be heard. Looking up they saw many ghouls approaching them, escorting black robed figures. They stiffened, as the creatures advanced.

'Run!' cried the boss. 'We have to get to the garrison!'

They fled, and as they did so skeletons and zombies arose around them, newly risen. The teams fled out of the gates, pursued by countless monsters as they rushed to the garrison town. Arrows were fired from the towers to slay the first ranks of the undead! The town bell rang endlessly as footmen and militia alike rushed to the defense. Knights mounted their horses and met to defeat the onslaught of undead.

After a brief battle, the undead were routed. Yet more still came up from the city. On the cliffs above, the Alliance Commander saw the acolytes working to bring forth the undead, under the direction of a shadowy Death Knight.

'Damn it!' he cursed 'We can't fight all the dead of Stratholme!' He turned to one of his men, 'You there, ride as quickly as you can and tell the Paladins whats happened! Go! Every second counts!'

It would be a long night.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

Interestingly enough, this chapter was meant to be just the intro to Dissension, but in the process I ended up writing a whole chapter. This is really more of an exposition chapter, but it was interesting to write.

And yes the last lines of the chapter are very similar to Arthas' own dialogue. That was deliberate, to lampshade the similarity of the situation. I guess I figured I'd give a bit of an explanation of how Stratholme became a bastion of the undead scourge. Consider this the beginnings of that explanation.

I think that once I finish this fic, I'm going to have to make some changes to Mercy of the Damned. Not everything was planned out when I wrote Mercy of the Damned, so some things, in particular the first scene, may need to be changed.


	10. Dissension

**Chapter Ten: Dissension**

The blue dragon flight assembled in great ranks before Malygos, who looked upon them carefully. The great dragon walked slowly before them, his claws shaking the earth beneath him as he considered his next words carefully. 'The other dragon flights have said that we should take no action against the coming events. They believe that we should allow fate to play out, for the human to accomplish his dark destiny.

I, however, have no intention of doing so. Until this point, the Prince of Lordaeron has done severe damage to the undead scourge. It will take them many years to recover from the losses they suffered at his hands. Alexstranza and Ysera now expect us to allow him to go further, and undo all the good he has done.

We have seen the strands of fate, my children. We know well what horrors will result from the coming events. And for what? That Alexstranza and Ysera might once again pass off responsibility for their failure to act?

There is one simple truth here: If the Prince of Lordaeron knew right now where his destiny would lead him, he would end his own life here and now. I intend to save him from the damnation destiny has set aside for him, and in so doing save Azeroth from immeasurable harm.

Who among you will undertake this task?'

A group of dragons stepped forward, some young and some old. All very powerful, Malygoss looked to them in satisfaction. 'Very well, then you will intercept him and the mercenaries when they got through a certain pass. Kill them all, let none survive. We are saving them from a far worse fate.'

* * *

Early the next morning, Arthas and Muradin set out from their new base camp on an errand of particular importance.

The meeting place was a series of standing stones, an ancient shrine dedicated to the gods of the ice trolls. It was situated atop a great snowy hill and surrounded by many trees. The howls of wolves could be heard every so often as Arthas and Muradin scaled up to the top, accompanied only by a few of Muradin's men.

'Careful lad,' said Muradin 'we may have to make a break for it right quick if things go poorly. Look to the trees.'

Arthas did look and wished he hadn't moments later. The ice trolls were in the trees in great numbers. Meanwhile, the ogres were standing about the shrine itself, with the troll leader also there, accompanied by a few bodyguards. Ogre and ice troll alike watched and waited as Arthas and Muradin walked into the center to meet with their leaders. A chieftain of the Ogre Legion stood before him, massive and wearing black armor and holding a metal spiked club. With him was a troll who was thin even for his kind, and very old indeed. He was hunched over a staff and peered at Arthas in suspicion. The Prince found that he recognized the troll, a Zul'amon he had dealt with in the past.

'Why you want this meeting, tiny?' asked the ogre.

'So mon,' said Zul'amon 'ya be returning here after many a year, and ya say you don't be having any reason to fight us. But we be having reason to fight you.'

'True enough, Zul'amon,' admitted Arthas 'you have changed little from how you were before, and you are correct I've killed many of both your kind. And the colonists killed more, or so Muradin tells me. But let me ask you this? What does it matter which one of us would win in a fight if the undead would finish off the winner?'

'You be having a point there.' admitted Zul'amon.

'Ogre Legion strong!' snapped the Ogre 'Ogre Legion crush weak dead!'

'You know better,' said Arthas bluntly. 'the Ogre Legion has been struggling to keep its territory in the face of the advancing Alliance. The reason you came here was because you couldn't defeat us. And the undead remain a serious threat to all of us combined.'

'So ye be wanting our help.' surmised Zul'amon. 'Why should we be giving it to ya?'

'I don't need your help,' said Arthas 'and I don't want it. I will crush the undead on my own, and end Mal'ganis' life with my own hands. However, I'd rather not have to fight both your peoples while I'm at it.

So I'd like to suggest a truce. I deal with Mal'ganis, your people don't fight mine or each other, we all focus on killing the rotting dead. And when the war is won, my men and I go home and we never have to see each other again.'

'That be sounding mighty appealing,' said Zul'amon 'very well. I be telling mah warriors not to mess with yers. But don't be thinking this be permanent. The moment the dead be gone, we'll be wiping out yer colony and claiming dis land for our own.'

'You are certainly welcome to try.' said Arthas 'Just not yet. What of you?'

'…I tell warriors not to beat in pink skins heads.' said the Ogre 'Instead beat down only dead. When dead gone, then bash pink skins.'

There was silence.

'Well lad,' said Muradin 'I think that's as good as its going to get.'

Arthas couldn't help himself, he couldn't leave such brazen hostility unchallenged. 'I must admit, the prospect of slaughtering you all is quite appealing.' said the Prince in a friendly tone. 'Isn't it wonderful that we have such a clear understanding of eachothers intentions?'

'It certainly is.' agreed Zul'amon.

'Honesty refreshing,' mused the Ogre.

'Well then,' said Arthas 'if there is nothing else I should return to my base. I have a campaign to plan. You also might want to decide on your next course of action. Good day gentlemen, perhaps we'll talk again.'

The company broke apart to plan eachothers destruction.

* * *

Captain Falric walked amongst the men, noting their hopeful expressions. They clustered around fires which were constantly kept burning. They wore heavy cloaks and fur garments, but still, you couldn't help but feel cold. Their food was plentiful enough, but it was a miserable drizzling day, and their gaze kept turning in the direction of the sea.

'Captain Falric sir,' said a soldier, approaching him.

'Yes?' asked Falric 'What is it, soldier?'

'We're all with the Prince sir,' said the soldier 'but… we've burned down the main undead bastions. We've only been finding remnants until now. And now he's got us making dealing with ice trolls and ogres to keep up this war.

We and the men were talking and… well… we think we all ought to head home.'

Falric remained silent. Suddenly he realized that he hated Northrend. Every stone of this bitter and hard land. Yet to return home without victory… it was somehow an idea which seemed worse. 'Lad, how old are you?'

'Nineteen, sir.'

'Whats your name?'

'Tanis.'

'Were you in any battles before this most recent one?'

'No sir, I joined up for this mission.' said Tanis.

'I fought in the second war, Tanis.' said Falric 'I killed my fair share of orcs. In the defense of Southshore I slew a death knight, and in final defense of Lordaeron City I slew another. I've seen the horrors of war, but nothing I've seen compares to the horror which were unleashed upon our people by Mal'ganis in this most recent war.' He remained silent for a moment, wanting to say what had been eating away at him for months. 'There are some deeds which once committed stain a person beyond redemption. Its… difficult to explain, you have to be the victim of them to understand.

There is a very good reason that Prince Arthas has chosen to continue this war.

We should trust his judgement. He is our future King, after all. Am I clear?'

'Yes sir,' said Tanis, nodding. 'sorry I brought it up.'

Falric made his way over to a campfire and began to warm his hands. At that moment, however, there came a cry. Falric glanced up, and saw a man pointing to a zeppelin that was heading towards them.

'Look there!' said Tanis 'It has the emblem of Lordaeron on it!'

'Maybe they're calling us home.' said another man.

As the zeppelin landed, the men clustered around it and Falric forced his way to the front. He saw a man, dressed in the uniform of an emissary step out of it, carrying a staff. He was flanked by two armed guards.

Falric stepped forward and nodded his head. 'I apologize, emissary, but the Prince is away on an errand. What brings you to this desolate place?'

'By royal edict,' said the emissary 'you men are to return to Lordaeron immediately. Lord Uther has convinced the King to recall this expedition.'

The moment Falric heard this he knew it might wreck all, and yet he found himself almost laughing. 'We're to just pack up and leave?'

'That is correct.' said the emissary. 'My men report that the roads from here to the shore are held by the undead. You'll need to find an alternate route back to your ships.'

Then he turned and made his way back into the zeppelin. Falric looked at the men, who were looking at him for direction. If he ordered it, they would have an easy time of clearing away the undead and reaching the ships. However, they would take casualties. Prince Arthas would know what to do, what Falric had to do now was stall.

'To hell with the undead!' he cried 'We'll cut our way through the woods men!'

A cheer came from the troops as they rushed off to the thick trees to begin clearing the underbrush away. That would buy time. For now, Falric scaled up to the top of the cliffs where a number of shelters had been erected. There he waited until Prince Arthas came back into sight.

* * *

As soon as Arthas came into sight of the new base camp, he knew something was terribly wrong. The guards were nowhere to be seen, had the undead attacked now they would have surely overwhelmed them. Falric was standing alone by a campfire, looking conflicted as he approached.

He knew what was happening. 'Captain, why are the guards not at their posts?'

'Well milord,' said Falric 'your Father had our troops recalled at Lord Uther's request.'

'Uther had my troops recalled?!' snarled Arthas, turning away. 'Damn it! If my warriors abandon me, the colony will be overrun in a week!' The realization of what had to be done came to him easily, and he grew very still. 'The ships must be burned before the men reach the shore.'

'Isn't that a bit much lad?' asked Muradin.

Perhaps it was. Perhaps Arthas should accept that he had gone too far, and bow to the wishes of his Father, and Uther. They were more experienced than him after all. Then a voice in his mind pointed out that the men had not waited to consult him before they began to abandon their posts. Even at the ends of the earth, Arthas could not escape Uther's shadow. 'Burned down to their frames! No one goes home until our job here is done!' Then he calmed himself and looked to Muradin's men, who looked very unsteady. 'We'll need more men if we're to fight our way through the undead.'

'Well, ice trolls and ogres have been willing to work for us as mercenaries from time to time.' said Muradin 'Perhaps we could hire a few of them.'

'Very well,' said Arthas 'we'll use them to destroy the ships.'

'But… lad,' said Muradin 'what about Captain Marwynn? His forces are still guarding them. You can't even be thinking of killing your own men, can ya?'

'Of course not.' said Arthas, drawing out a stone. 'Falric, Marwynn and I each possess a stone which we can use to communicate over long distance. I had Jaina make them for me shortly before Harthglen. I'm going to contact him now.

Falric.'

'Yes milord.' said Falric.

'Your remember how I Luc Valonforth bring up the gold reserves he had acquired,' said Arthas 'Bring it here, and I will use it to pay the beast races.'

'As you wish.' said Falric.

It was a touch too quick, and despite himself, Arthas was shaken from his plans. He looked at his friend in surprise. 'Just like that?'

'It's the most rational method of keeping this expedition fighting.' said Falric with a shrug. 'And there is nothing for me to go back to in Lordaeron anyway.'

'But I thought-'

'My family lived in Anderhol.' said Falric.

And Arthas realized suddenly that though they had been friends for years, he actually knew very little about Falric. He did not know the names of his family, or where they had lived. He'd been aware they existed, that his friends Father had opposed him joining the military. Yet Falric had almost never discussed it.

Now he never would know their names. They were gone, washed away by the undead scourge like so many nameless and faceless innocents Arthas would never know. 'I… I'm sorry. I didn't know.'

'You did what you could.' said Falric ruefully. 'Now we have ships to burn, don't we?'

'Yes,' said Arthas raising the stone, and channeling his magic through it.

 _'Yes Prince Arthas, how may I serve?'_

'Marwynn,' said Arthas 'your forces are all assembled by the ships correct?'

 _'Of course, though we've seen signs of undead. I'm sorry I didn't report it earlier, but I completely forgot we had these things.'_

'It's fine.' said Arthas 'I will deal with the undead personally. For now, I have orders.'

'Finally, when shall we leave for the front?'

'I need you to take your forces,' said Arthas 'all of your forces down to the last man, and take them to the colony. Do it quickly, and avoid all conflict with the natives.'

'Sir,' said Marwynn 'that would leave the ships completely defenseless. I can't just-'

'Listen to me Marwynn,' said Arthas 'you have always questioned my decisions and judgment calls. That is one of the things which has made you so valuable to me. However just this once I want you to obey my orders without saying anything. No questions, no sarcastic commentary, not even the slightest deviation!

Do you understand? There is to be no one left on those ships when you head out. Not so much as one guard.'

'But-'

'Do you understand?!'

'…Yes, it will be done milord.' said Marwynn after a moment, sounding shocked.

It took only a few minutes for Falric to get back, bringing with him two large chests of gold. Muradin's men walked forward to pick them up. Arthas set one shoulder on Falric's. 'Stay here, do what you can to slow the work. I'll deal with the ships, and the undead which bar our path.'

'It will be done milord.' said Falric.

For a moment Arthas was seized with indecision, but the moment passed. 'Let's get this over with.'

Muradin and Arthas made their way away from the base camp, followed by Muradin's men. As they traveled through the rocky passes, the wind kicked up, sending their cloaks flowing around them. A chill breeze flowed through Arthas' hair, bringing with it the scent of the rotting dead.

Suddenly ghouls rushed at them, and battle was joined. Muradin slammed the ground, shaking the creatures from their feet. Arthas summoned the light to burn many of them to ashes with a spell. Swinging his hammer, he cleaved through them in great swaths. Muradin hewed around him with axe and hammer, cleaving skulls and breaking claws.

Finally, the ghouls all lay dead and they pressed on without a word. The land became blighted as they went on, though it had not been when they had come this way before. The trees had never looked more threatening, and the cliffs seemed to loom about them like great jaws waiting to swallow them up.

Only a little ways on the blight increased and the trees disappeared. Defenses had been erected to stop them, before the mouth of a great tomb. With his soldiers, Arthas would have had a simple time of driving these undead before him. However now he had only a few mortars, himself and Muradin.

'Bring that spirit tower down.' he said 'We'll handle the undead!'

Muradin and he rushed forward to meet the undead, and together carved a swath through them. Necromancers came forward to bring back the corpses of the dead, but Arthas summoned the light and burned them screaming to death. Mortar shells blew great chunks out of the spirit tower. A group of ghouls rushed towards Muradin's men, but Muradin disengaged as they approached and fell upon them, hewing them down with mighty blows of his hammer and axe.

Arthas finished with those he was fighting and approached the crypt fiends. Summoning the light, he deflected their assaults and smashed their leader to death with one blow. Swinging again and again, he slew many more before Muradin returned and helped him finish them. Hundreds were dead around them as the spirit tower collapsed into ruins.

Breathing heavily, Arthas reflected that Muradin had been right. They could not afford to not use the mercenaries.

Pressing on past a great standing stone, they made their way to an ice troll village. Approaching it, Arthas felt a terrible reluctance to work with these creatures. Yet there was no other way. The dwarves seemed just as reluctant as he was, and Muradin alone didn't seem disturbed.

'Lad,' said Muradin as they approached. 'have you considered how your men will take this? They won't be happy to be stranded here, I'll wager.'

'You needn't worry.' said Arthas 'I already have a plan for that.' Once before on the road to Stratholme the necessary and terrible thing which had to be done presented itself. Now it did so again, though it was far less terrible. The trolls had made no secret that once the undead were defeated they would attack the colony.

His plan was only speeding up the inevitable. Yet it did not sit right with him, and he felt in his heart that this was wrong. This wasn't like Stratholme, he did have a choice here. He shrugged it off, the colonies safety must come first.

'Damn Uther for forcing me to do this.' he snapped as he walked into the midst of the trolls village.

They had chosen their time well. There was a substantial force of ogres from the ogre legion standing by. Zul'amon came forward in a mock expression of welcome. 'Well, well, well, da Prince of da humans has returned? How may we aid ya highness?'

'Spare the pleasantries, Zul'amon.' said Arthas 'My father has recalled my expedition to Northrend. Even now my forces are withdrawing towards my ships. I don't need to tell you that if they succeed, the undead will have nothing standing between them and wiping you off the map.'

'We don't need ya, human,' said Zul'amon 'ya be deluding yourself.'

'Maybe not,' said Arthas 'but you will have to fight a costly war if I withdraw now. If I finish my business in these parts the undead will no longer be a threat, and I will leave on my own.'

'Maybe,' said Zul'amon 'or maybe ya be deciding to stay once the ghouls no longer be nipping at your heels. You be asking a big risk of us.' He paused. 'Why should we help you?'

'Muradin, bring forth our payment.'

The dwarves brought forth the chests and spilled them out before Zul'amon. The troll walked forward and marveled at it, kneeling by it. 'Where did you be getting all this stuff?'

'The finest gold,' said Arthas 'mined from the earth of Northrend. Bring your warriors to my aid in this matter, and we will destroy many undead that are already a threat to you. And for your assistance, and the assistance of any more clans you can rally, I will give you all this. And I will give you more once our business is complete.'

Zul'amon looked up with a keen eye. 'And what if we be deciding to kill ya and take what ye be offering here, then let ya little soldiers go home?'

'If you try,' said Arthas coldly 'then five minutes from now Muradin and I will be the only living creatures left in this entire village.'

There was a tense silence, as Muradin stared at him in shock. The Prince's tone had been so matter of fact that it startled even him. When had such an outright massacre become nothing significant to him? Oh right, Stratholme.

Zul'amon looked at him in new light, seeming impressed. Then he laughed a low cackle. 'Very well, mon. Our boys be yers to command. We'll burn your men's ships to the water, and kill the dead in the process.'

'Excellent,' said Arthas 'take your men and follow me.'

The ogres and troll warriors followed Arthas out from the village, and the Prince led them out of the hills and into the lowlands. There they found still more dead waiting for them, guarded by many spirit towers.

'Baelgun,' said Arthas 'get your forces onto the hills and take down those spirit towers! Zul'amon, follow me into battle!'

There was a battle roar, and the ogres trolls dwarves and one human rushed to meet the enemy. The spirit towers launched countless shots of magical energy and several trolls died before battle was joined. More followed. An ogre clobbered three ghouls to death with his club, as one of his comrades was dragged down and torn to shreds. Arthas hewed down a crypt fiend, as Muradin hacked and slashed his way through.

As the first of the spirit towers fell, more undead streamed into view and joined the fray. Muradin met them first of all and was soon fighting back to back with an ogre. A dwarf fell back, wounded, only to be healed by Zul'amon's magic. Arthas healed a troll warrior as he limped away from the combat, and slew the undead trying to slay him.

Finally, the battle was over, and hundreds of undead lay slaughtered. Yet many ogres and trolls also lay among the slain. Arthas walked forward to their bodies and realized that they had used the light. These trolls were able to wield the light against the undead. Didn't that mean they were worthy of life as well?

Raising his hammer, Arthas summoned his powers. Was it the figure of an angel which appeared above, as the dead of the trolls and ogres arose once more to life? Their friends rant o them, clasping their hands and slapping each other on the back.

It made him doubt his plan.

Their kills were recounted among warriors, who boasted of their accomplishments. Arthas walked up to Zul'amon, returning his mind to the task at hand. 'Very good, but there are still the ships to deal with.'

'We'll be getting to them mon.' said Zul'amon quickly. 'I've never been seeing anything like that before? How did you do it?'

'It requires a profound connection to the light.' said Arthas 'We should move on.'

'I gotta be getting one of those, one of these days.' murmured Zul'amon as they pressed on.

Together the group crossed a land bridge over to an area that was less snowy, and a bit warmer, though not much. The ground here was packed and frozen hard. As they went, however, Zul'amon held up a hand. 'Wait mon, we be having a problem.'

'What is it?' asked Arthas.

'The nerubians be holding the shore ahead of us,' said Zul'amon 'see ahead.'

Arthas saw there in the distance many spider creatures waiting about. 'They look like living crypt fiends.'

'That's because they are, lad.' said Muradin 'Before the undead came here about fifteen years ago the nerubians were the dominant faction in Northrend. They were constantly trying to expand into the other races dominion.'

'These days we be killing their corpses more than we be killing them.' reflected Zul'amon 'They hate everyone who isn't one of their kind. We'd better be taking care of these ones before more come up to meet them.'

'I'd prefer to bypass them if possible,' said Arthas, feeling like he was back at Strahnbrad.

'I don't be caring what you'd prefer.' said Zul'amon 'This be our territory. We'll not be letting spiders, living or dead take it from us. Wipe em out!'

The army charged without orders and Arthas had no choice but to charge with them. Battle was joined and the nerubians fought back. Trolls dragged some of them down, and hacked them to pieces, while some of the trolls were torn to pieces by nerubians in turn. An ogre was crushed to death by a truly massive nerubian,

Even after they slew one, the larger nerubians would sometimes spawn smaller creatures out of their corpses. These two were slain. One massive nerubian, a Queen, Muradin later told him, sent vast swaths of black magic surging over them. Several ogres died, falling back, and a number of trolls were killed as well.

Arthas and Muradin waded in and hacked at its massive body, as axes flew through the air to embed themselves in her flesh. Ogres smashed the beasts repeatedly, until at last, it fell over, moaning and dying.

Then Arthas saw the buildings. He only saw them for a moment, and then the trolls were setting fire to them. Squeals and screams came from within, and tiny nerubians attempted to escape, only to be crushed underfoot by the trolls, who laughed and kicked at them, before finishing them off.

Finally, it was over. Arthas suddenly felt very used, and a lot less guilty about what he was going to do. He approached Zul'amon. 'This wasn't an invasion, this was a village. And you knew it, didn't you?'

'Well my friend,' said Zul'amon with a certain amount of sarcasm. 'I figured as long as I be gathering the clans for a great war, I might as well conquer us some territory. We all have our little ambitions.

There is another village some ways up. Lets be getting us some new braves.'

Arthas tried to bring back all the dead allies who had fallen, but even the light had its limits. Only some of them were brought back, and Arthas reflected that it was only fair they take some casualties. 'Do you want to know why the trolls have never had a strong enough connection with the light to bring back the dead?' he asked suddenly.

'…Go ahead and tell me, mon.' said Zul'amon, looking at him suspiciously.

'Because of merciless actions like this.' said Arthas.

'Don't lecture me mon, it's every race for itself.'

'I'm not lecturing you.' said Arthas 'Just telling you the sad truth. Let's get going.'

Yes, the Alliance had occasionally stooped to such lows, but the military was only one aspect of human society. Forest trolls were entirely militaristic. Everyone was either a warrior or a priest, and a worker as well. They lived to expand, to kill their enemies and they were renowned for their ruthlessness. In such a society, there simply wasn't room for the kind of revelations which Uther and Turylyon had undergone. Thus the deeper levels of the light evaded the trolls.

They pressed on, and Muradin approached him. 'Well lad, it seems we're being minimized in our own expedition. I'm not sure we're calling the shots anymore.'

'So long as we achieve what we set out to do, I don't care.' said Arthas bitterly. 'I just want to kill Mal'ganis and go home, but it looks like we're going to be staying here awhile.'

There was silence. Finally, Muradin spoke: 'Lad, if you don't mind me asking, how did trolls learn to wield the light? Do you know?'

'There were a number of attempts to convert them after the second war.' admitted Arthas, covering his face with his hands. 'Archbishop Faol held an interest in converting other races to the light. He thought it might help bring permanent peace. It was… actually somewhat successful. The missionaries emphasized the use of healing magics to the trolls, and they listened.

Very soon the worship of the light became fairly common. An entire caste developed, dedicated to the light.'

'So it worked.' said Muradin.

'Yes, I suppose it did.' reflected Arthas.

'Then… well… there should be a change to foreign policy, don't you think?' asked Muradin.

'And alienate Quel'thalas?' asked Arthas with a slight smile despite himself. 'Elves hate trolls, and trolls hate elves. If we were to do something like start treating trolls like people, then the elves might do something rash. Like… abandon us in our time of need for instance.

It simply wouldn't be politically convenient.' He halted and saw Zul'amon had paused at the head of the column. 'You know, I once told my men that humanity was the chosen of the light. If we really are the best choice for the light, however, then I weep for the future of this world. Let's see what this is about.'

Zul'amon glanced back as they approached. 'Ah, here you are mon. We've got a couple of hundred murlocs just waiting to be extinguished. As my best warrior, we'll need you to lead the charge.'

'Of course,' said Arthas, raising his hammer. 'let's go Muradin.'

'But lad-' began Muradin.

'We're not calling the shots anymore, remember?' said Arthas. 'Let's go.'

The charge was an onslaught. They fell upon the murlocs without pity of mercy, and cut them down. Many of the creatures were killed in moments. For a time those that remained kept the mercenaries at bay, yet in time even those were wiped away. Finally, the group marched onwards over another land bridge, leaving behind many corpses behind them.

They were held at bay soon by thick undergrowth, as the trees blocked them. Forcing their way through was difficult, and took a great deal of energy. Even so, they pressed on and came to another village. There Zul'amon went in alone and spoke with the ogre chieftain from before. He emerged with a great many very large ogres, larger than before.

Thus the group pressed on.

On they walked until the ground became covered in snow and the cliffs rose up once more around them. As they crossed onwards, however, there came a sudden beating of wings upon the air. The trolls looked up, faces pale as great blue reptiles, with huge wings descended.

'Dragons!' cried Zul'amon in a panic. 'The blue dragons have come! Flee for your lives!'

'Into the pass, quickly!' said Arthas.

They fled, rushing with all their might. The dragons breathed ice down upon them. A group of dwarves were frozen solid by the assault. Ogres screamed as their joints became stiff with the cold. A dragon swooped down to grip a troll, dragging him up into the air and dropping them onto the rocks above. Axes bounced off their hides uselessly.

On they fled, as the beasts hurled rocks down upon their heads without mercy. Their legs pumped in exhaustion, and every moment they were afraid would be the death of them. Then, just as Arthas was convinced they would never make it out of here alive, there came another roar.

Suddenly great skeletal dragons appeared and engaged the blues. Back and forth they ranged, tearing at each other, quite distracted. And as they did so the company used their chance to run. Fleeing through the pass as the combat waged above, they reached the shore and collapsed in exhaustion.

Panting for breath, Arthas looked around. They were far fewer than they had been. Many of the company had been slain, and they were now beyond recall. Rising to his feet, Arthas stood up. He looked to Muradin, then Zul'amon.

Suddenly bitter laughter welled up in their throats, the result of endless stress. It was absurd, and they had taken many casualties. Yet the others also joined in as Arthas got into a cross-legged sitting position. 'I never thought I would be glad to see the undead.' he said.

'Yes,' said Muradin 'though why they should help us is a bit of a mystery.'

'I think… I think Mal'ganis wants the same thing we want.' realized Arthas 'Both me and him are looking for a decisive battle. We want to finish each other off so that we can't interfere with each other anymore.'

'Now that's a nasty thought.' said Muradin.

'If that be the case,' said Zul'amon 'why wouldn't he be burning the ships himself?'

'…He doesn't know we've moved away our guards.' realized Muradin. 'Or maybe he does and he's already done it.'

'No,' said Arthas with morbid certainly 'the ships are still there and he knows it.'

'What do you mean?'

'This is Mal'ganis style,' said Arthas 'he can't defeat me directly, so he forces his enemies to do things they would never even dream of doing before now. first at Stratholme, now here. He's taunting me.'

'Maybe…' said Muradin 'maybe we should call this whole thing off lad? Just go home.'

'No,' said Arthas as he arose. 'Zul'amon, get your people we're going to wipe out any further undead on the shorelines, then finish our work.'

'Right you are, my friend.' said Zul'amon.

Traveling south along the coast, they soon encountered necromancers who summoned many corpses to meet them. Weakened though they were, the ogres and trolls overran the vast lines of skeletons, beating them down. Axes split the necromancers skulls, as Arthas healed those who were wounded. After a few minutes of fighting, the battle was won and they pressed on, pausing only to set fire to the great piles of corpses which had been raised.

Soon the coastline turned north and Arthas realized they were drawing very near where Marwynn had built his defenses. They found a great host of undead waiting for them, however. The creatures rushed forward, and the ogres and trolls rushed to meet them. A bloody stalemate ensued, as abominations and ogres wrestled and beat at each other. An ogre had its stomach split open by a cleaver, only for Arthas to heal him. A necromancer summoned a group of skeletons before Zul'amon put an axe in his skull. Arthas hewed down an abomination with one stroke.

Even so, more undead came out of the trees to aid the enemy. Soon they were on the verge of being overwhelmed.

'For Khaz Modan!' roared Muradin.

Suddenly the dwarf grew to the size of an ogre. His skin became like stone, as he rushed into battle. His axe cleaved down three abominations with one stroke. His hammer struck the ground and shattered many ghouls with the shock of it. The enemy lined caved before him. Cheers came from ogre and troll alike as they tore through the undead. Still, more reinforcements arrived, yet it was in vain!

They were untouchable!

Arthas slew the last necromancer himself.

Finally, it was done, and he, Muradin and Zul'amon began to ascend the cliffs in good spirits. Laughter and cheers could be heard from the ogres and trolls, and even among the dwarves there seemed to have developed some kind of comradeship. It only made Arthas feel worse about his plan.

'What was that you did?' asked Arthas.

'A little secret of the mountain kings,' said Muradin 'it's a bit much to explain here.'

'This has been great victory, mon!' cried Zul'amon 'Mal'ganis will not be walking this kind of defeat off any time soon!'

Then Arthas saw the ships. Fine vessels moored in a fort that had been constructed over the course of a few weeks. It was practically a settlement in itself, and only with the aid of the Alliance mages could such a fine example of a port be constructed. In other times and places it might have been the beginnings of a great settlement.

For now, however, it was an obstacle.

'So those be the ships my men told me about,' said Zul'amon with a low whistle.

'Leave the port untouched.' said Arthas 'Burn the ships. Every one of them.'

The destruction of the vessels took perhaps thirty minutes. Flames were set aboard several of them, and these were sailed into the others. Soon the fire spread across the sails and ropes of the others ships. One by one the beautiful vessels went down, sinking into the water, and broken to splinters.

Finally the last of them fell to the waterline.

Arthas observed it with satisfaction, then looked to Zul'amon. And suddenly he realized he had no intention of initiating his plan. Zul'amon was hardly the most benevolent of individuals, but to betray him in the fashion he had planned. To blame him for the task he had been assigned…

It would be evil. Plain and simple.

'Zul'amon,' said Arthas in a low voice. 'my men may be very angry when they find their ships destroyed. If you and your warriors are around when they return I cannot guarantee your safety.'

'What about our payment?' asked Zul'amon.

'I will have the rest of it sent to you as soon as I have restored order to my forces.' said Arthas 'Now go, before they arrive.'

Zul'amon nodded, then turned to take his forces and lead them away. By the time the forces of Lordaeron emerged from the trees in good spirits, expecting to find their way home, they were long gone. There was absolute silence as they approached to survey the wreckage which had been made of their ships. Marwynn was among them. The captain looked at Arthas in horrified realization. He knew.

'Prince Arthas…' said Marwynn.

'What happened here milord?' asked a soldier.

'Listen to me all of you,' said Arthas 'there is no way home for any of us, save through victory. In this land, we will stand or fall together. Now, return to the base and man your posts.'

Because they loved him, they did not ask how the ships were destroyed. Because they had no choice, they obeyed him. Yet the way their spirits visibly fell on their face made Arthas hate himself all the more. He would give them some explanation later. For now, however, events were proceeding as planned.

The hunt for Mal'ganis was nearing its end. Yet Arthas could not shake the feeling that it would be a dark and dismal end indeed.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

Well, here we have the epic mission dissension. It is here that the differences in Arthas' character become most apparent. The decision to spare the mercenaries was one I made rather early on, but I didn't expect to have them play such a large role. The troll Zul'amon, is an OC. I've always been of the opinion that the trolls and ogres in this region of Northrend were completely wiped out by Arthas' mission. In canon, Zul'amon would have burned the ships and been killed.

Not much else to say. The Malygos scene was put in because I wanted there to be an explanation of exactly what the Blue Dragon Flight is doing fighting the good guys.


	11. Frostmourne

**Chapter Eleven: Frostmourne**

King Terenas received the emissaries report with a stony bearing. He remained utterly silent as the man finished telling him what he had seen. They were communicating over a mirror of scrying which such dignitaries came equipped with to consult their leaders in times of crisis. After a moment Terenas took a deep breath. 'I see, that is unfortunate.'

'Unfortunate? Milord, he burned his own mens ships using-'

'I know.' said Terenas 'My son is not well. Whatever the case, we are committed and all steps must be taken to ensure the expedition is a success. You are to tell your gryphon escort to disengage and head back to Northrend to assist however they may. Return on your own.'

'Yes sir,' said the emissary. 'I will do as you ask.'

The connection was cut, and King Terenas leaned back in his throne. He set down the mirror very carefully. 'Damn.'

* * *

Stratholme belonged to the scourge. Endless streams of undead marched forth from its gates in an endless tide. The defenders locked their shields together, and hacked them down as they came. Riflemen fired their guns, while priests of the light healed the wounded. Yet though they killed their enemies by the hundreds their were always more. Their limbs were tiring, their numbers were dwindling. Within mere minutes the forces of the Alliance would be overwhelmed, and the villages would burn.

'The undead are overwhelming us,' said a soldier 'we're all doomed.'

'Maybe,' said another 'but we'll shed much of their blood before we're through.'

Then came the paladins! Three of them rode down the road, a force of knights at their back. Lord Uther led the charge and hewed down great swaths of undead, the light of his hammer burning away many more. Gavinrad the Dire was at his right hand, hewing this way and that. His light restored the strength of the tired, and healed the injuries of the wounded. Sage Truthbearer, white beard flowing about him was at Uthers left and he rushed out into the fray and made himself an impenetrable barrier which the undead broke against like water on a rock.

Cheers came from the men as they joined their brothers in a charge which overran the faltering undead offensive. Down they rushed, across the bridge and into the main gate of Stratholme. Nothing could stop them, they were untouchable!

As they cut down the undead in vast droves, a pale haired figure rode forward, carrying a long runeblade. He rallied his undead, filling them with new strength, and thus for a time the combat stalemated. Many footmen were hacked down in droves, only to be brought back by Uthers power, while the undead had no such power. The lights power continued to pour forth, and soon the undead melted away before the onslaught of the Alliance.

The death knight however escaped. He and his necromancers and acolytes slipped away during the fighting. Stratholme belonged to the Alliance once more. The Paladins and men halted, looking around at the ruined city around them. The stench of death was everywhere, and there were now still more bodies to burn.

'You men,' said Uther 'take teams and continue the burning of the bodies. We'll leave a garrison here to ensure nothing like this happens again. My paladins and I will continue our efforts to root out the cult.'

'Yes Lord Uther,' said the Alliance Commander.

'We hold the advantage men!' called Uther, raising his hammer aloft. 'We need only continue our dark work a little longer! When the bodies of this place have been burned, and the cult destroyed once and for all, then this land will know peace again!'

There was a ragged cheer from the soldiers. As he lowered his hammer, Uther realized he didn't believe a word of it. His own words sounded utterly hollow to him. He turned to Sage Truthbearer. 'Find some priests of the light, have them read these bodies their last rights. We… might at least give the dead here some dignity.'

'As you wish, Lord Uther.' said Sage, nodding.

As events played out before his eyes, Uther wondered what hope remained.

* * *

The next day storm clouds gathered over Arthas' base camp. A blizzard was soon to come, and the men clustered around campfires in silence. There was no escape from this place now, save by defeating the enemy. In time the Alliance would send ships to evacuate them. In time they would return home. Yet not until they had slain the undead. Whispers went to and fro among the men, that the priests of the light were suffering headaches. A lingering darkness had settled over the base, and evil was afoot somewhere.

Arthas for his part was standing away from the campfires in the midsts of the fort and remembering many things. He'd sent out Muradin some time ago with the trolls to scan the surrounding lands for any sign of Mal'ganis. Now he was waiting alone for their return. Falric was commanding, and he was waiting around. No one dared approach him.

As he looked to the soldiers looking at him, he saw them force themselves back up. Force themselves to maintain dignity. They weren't stupid, it was fairly obvious that he'd had some part in their stranding. Yet they were ready to fight, kill and die for him. When he walked among them, they saluted him with what energy they could muster. He could do no wrong in their eyes.

To be obeyed without question. To be loved unconditionally regardless of how he acted against their interests. To retain command whatever the kings of men said. This was something like being a god, wasn't it? Unassailable, unapproachable, invincible, it did not feel nearly so good as it sounded. For one thing, he was only human. And yet only he seemed to know it.

Arthas suddenly became aware that he had not had a decent conversation all day. He doubted he'd find one here, surrounded by men who would not question him. He was still in command, but the easy comradeship which he had still possessed had faded away to be replaced by silent awe. He felt as if he was standing atop a cliff, watching all of them. Able to see and command, but not interact. How he wished to scale down to walk amongst them once more, yet he could not. A barrier of darkness now existed between him and them.

Long before he had chased Mal'ganis, Prince Arthas had been chasing his own reputation. When he became a paladin, he'd been the least accomplished member in the order. He'd striven endlessly to prove that he was worthy of his title, that he was not just a political appointee to integrate the Paladin Order into the control of Lordaeron. Yet though he accomplished much, the renown he had gained for them was far in excess of what he had deserved. Even as he deserved the renown he had, his own reputation raced ahead of him, ever evasive. Ever taunting him with his own inability to match up.

So he'd try harder. He'd work endlessly to make himself worthy of the adoration he had received. Yet once again his fame and power increasing, until now when he stood at the end of a long and bloody war. And still, he could not overtake the legend which had grown up around him. His peoples, boundless faith in him had been his most persistent adversary, far more than Mal'ganis ever had.

He turned his mind away from such thoughts and considered his present situation. Not a word had been spoken against him in the past few days since the ships had been burned. The scouts scouted, the fortifications were enhanced. A great wall with canons now overlooked the three passes leading deeper into Northrend, and any army that attacked would find itself hard-pressed to break the walls. A few skirmishes had been waged with the undead, but nothing major had yet occurred.

Zul'amon and his trolls had been ranging far afield, hunting the dead, and giving information as to their whereabouts. Several undead bastions had been found and destroyed with relative ease. No sign of retaliation had yet been forthcoming.

Everything was going as Arthas had planned. Or perhaps how Mal'ganis had planned. He didn't know anymore.

He turned his attention to the west. There were a series of crags in that direction which had only recently been explored. Muradin had found his waygate within them. Baelgun and Muradin had stumbled across it as they journeyed through the rocky cliffs. Now the whole of the men's attention was focused on the hunt for Mal'ganis. A hunt which was soon to reach its end. Arthas could feel it.

At that moment Muradin made his way through the gates, looking very worried. He rushed up to Arthas, and there was fear in his eyes. 'There is a massive undead army heading this way, lad.' said Muradin, tone composed. 'It's larger than anything I've have ever seen. Mal'ganis is coming at us with everything he's got.'

'How many?' asked Arthas.

'Well…' Muradin glanced to either side. 'More than we can handle, lad.'

'How many?' Arthas repeated, eyes narrowing.

'Fifty thousand by my count,' said Muradin in a low voice. 'more coming behind it through the passes.'

Arthas stared, mouth opening. He could scarcely able to conceive of that answer. 'Fifty thousand?!' This didn't make sense. If Mal'ganis had had that kind of force, to begin with, why hadn't he used it against Lordaeron? It suddenly dawned on Arthas that Mal'ganis had been toying with them this entire time.

This was a game to the Dreadlord. He had dragged the forces of Lordaeron to the north, not out of necessity, but for simple sick amusement.

'They will be here soon,' said Muradin 'we should have left while we had the chance.'

Despite the gravity of the situation, Arthas was suddenly seized by a cold fury. He had been right at every turn so far, and still, those close to him were questioning his judgment. A voice in his mind noted that Muradin would surely betray him soon as the others had.

'Spare me Muradin,' he snapped, voice colder than it had ever been. 'you weren't there to see what Mal'ganis did to my homeland.'

Then his attention was drawn to the ground beneath his feet. It was shaking. The stench of corpses innumerable suddenly filled his nostrils. The air echoed with the ringing of bells as the soldiers of Lordaeron looked up with faces pale. The passes were suddenly filled with great hosts of undead, monsters whose terrible presence covered the length and breadth of the land. Gargoyles rode the winds, screeching skyward as they flew too and fro without end. The land screamed beneath the dark magic which drove the creatures forward.

Yet they halted, staying just out of gunshot. Arthas rushed to the top of the wall and stared down on the hordes before him. From their dark ranks walked the Dreadlord Mal'ganis. No longer was he toying around, no longer did he disguise his true power. Darkness surrounded him as he walked forward, seeming as great as the mountains.

'The dark lord said you would come,' said Mal'ganis, his voice echoing throughout the men. 'this is where your journey ends, boy. Trapped and freezing on the roof of the world, with only death to sing the tale of your doom.'

Arthas was suddenly very afraid. More afraid than he'd ever been in his life.

It was hopeless, utterly hopeless. This entire thing had been a trap, just as Jaina had predicted. His men were outnumbered more than ten to one, and Arthas had the feeling that the ranks of the undead had only just begun to show their full strength. They might slaughter the creatures amassing before them by the thousands, but they would be overwhelmed. Then Mal'ganis would wipe out the colony and turn his eyes to Lordaeron once again. One by one the cities and towns of humanity would be put to the sword. The world of men would fall, and all would come to darkness. And his people to ruin. He looked at the faces of his men and realized that they were even more terrified, and they were thinking the same thing.

In that moment a single hope emerged in his mind. A desperate and last chance which might stave off the inevitable for a time, or even gain them victory.

'This looks bad,' said Muradin 'we're completely surrounded.'

'There is still one chance,' said Arthas, grasping at straws. 'help me claim Frostmourne. If it's as powerful as you said, it might tip the scales in our favor.'

Muradin looked at him. Really looked at him for a moment. Then he looked to the amassing armies and back to Arthas. 'I have a bad feeling about this lad.' he said at last. 'But I promised I'd see this through.'

Arthas turned to Falric. 'Captain, I'll leave you to organize our defense. Let's move out!'

Thus it was that Arthas and Muradin gathered together a team of knights and prepared to depart. As they did so it suddenly occurred to Arthas that Frostmourne might be a waste of time. Wasn't his time better spent fighting alongside his soldiers against the armies? Yet that was hopeless. Part of him wished that he might gain victory without finding this sword. Perhaps… perhaps if he trusted in the light it would send him aid.

He looked at his hands. Then he recalled the near defeat at Harthglen, and this new resolve began to fade. He was kept dead still there for a moment, torn between his loyalty to his comrades, and his desire to gain victory no matter the cost. There came a point where he waited for someone, anyone to challenge him. To stop him, to tell him that he could not leave on the eve of battle now.

But nobody questioned him. No one.

'Lad?' asked Muradin 'Are we going?'

'Yes,' said Arthas, before looking to his company. 'you men will remain behind to aid in the defense. Muradin and I will go on alone.'

'Is that wise, Prince Arthas?' asked a knight.

'It is my decision.' replied Arthas.

They journeyed into the crags and up into the hills. The clouds grew ever darker and more foreboding as snow fell upon them. The sounds of battle raged behind them as the siege began, and Arthas Menethil found the waygate. It loomed above him, magic swirling and he and Muradin stood before it for a moment. They looked to each other, then they nodded and pressed on through it.

No sooner had they passed through the waygate and they found themselves standing in a tunnel of rock, leading out. Walking away from the waygate, they walked upon a snowy path, flanked by many dark trees. If one listened closely, you could almost hear the sound of whispers, drawing them further along.

It would have been better if there had been wolves, or skeletons, or ghosts, or some kind of physical threat. Yet there was nothing. Nothing but the whispers that gradually grew louder, and the trees rising like hands on either side of them. As the two of them trudged onwards through the snow, leaving behind them great footprints, their cloaks whipped around them as a terrible breeze blew through their cloaks. Arthas raised one gloved hand to ward it off.

'This is intolerable lad,' said Muradin 'we should go back and help your men.'

'No!' snapped Arthas 'They can hold the enemy off on their own. The best we can do is find the sword and come to their aid.'

Such were the winds that they could scarcely move forward. Some power seemed to be setting its will against theirs so that they could not reach their goal. Yet they continued, they pressed on, footstep by footstep, until they came to the graveyard. It was a vast place of the dead indeed, with endless tombstones lined up as far as the eye could see. Countless standing stones were there, and ghostly apparitions passed them by. One walked straight through Arthas and he felt an undeniable chill.

This place did not seem natural, and as Arthas kneeled down by a stone he brushed aside the snows to see the writing. He tried to read the name, yet it seemed to avoid him. He could not make out the letters, and yet he felt it was somehow very important.

'Come on lad,' said Muradin 'let's keep moving. This place gives me the willies.'

'Yeah,' said Arthas 'I think you're right.'

They pressed on until they came to a great stone tomb looming over them. Its gates were sealed shut and made of heavy stone. Inlaid upon the doors was a plaque with heavy letters, and these they could read:

 _Once I was just like you._

There was a will behind those words, and it chilled Arthas to the bone. He stepped back, staring at the tomb whose doors flew open as if to swallow him up. Darkness amassed beyond the door, and he raised his hammer. Within were countless bones of countless warriors. Something, he could not make out what raced from the doors and into the skies above, laughing joyfully. The sound of its mirth was horrific, and they covered their ears and screamed as it echoed throughout the land. Finally it stopped.

Rising up, Arthas and Muradin looked to each other.

'What the hell was that?' asked Arthas.

'I don't know,' said Muradin 'but I don't want to stick around and find out.'

Thus they pressed onwards away from the unnatural graveyard and back into the wilds.

The cliffs closed in around them very suddenly and turned sharply. As they followed it, the area widened out to reveal a glade whose center was filled with ice. On the sides were trees like black claws, scraping at the sky. And in the very center, before the entrance to a cave was a suit of armor, floating above the ground with nothing inside it. Nothing but darkness, and bitter anger. In one hand it clutched a giant mace, and on the other arm, it held a massive shield. It looked at them with grim resolve. It was a revenant, a spirit unable to find rest brought back for some final service.

'Turn back, mortals.' It said 'Death and darkness are all that await you in this forsaken vault.'

'I doubt there is anything out here more terrifying than what we've faced already.' reflected Arthas bitterly as they advanced.

'Believe what you will, boy.' said the Revenant. 'You shall not pass.'

It swung its mace, and Arthas brought up his hammer to catch the blow. The force of it was like the weight of the earth beating down upon him, and he was sent stumbling back as it advanced. Another strike from it was parried before a third knocked him from his feet. Arthas landed hard on the ground, falling into the snow. He could not get up, and so called upon the light to aid him.

There was no answer.

As the revenant raised its mace to finish him, however, Muradin was there. The dwarf assault with a flurry of blows, each one accompanied by a cry. The Revenant was driven back, warding off the assault with its shield. As Arthas rose to his feet, Muradin was slammed with the shield and sent stumbling back. The mace fell towards the dwarfs skull, but Arthas leaped between it and took the blow with his hammer.

'Thanks lad!' cried Muradin, before taking his place by Arthas' side.

For a moment the revenant faced them down, face implacable as they readied themselves for a second assault. Then Muradin and Arthas charged at one, and the revenant charged to meet them. The three fighters unleashed their full fury, striking at each other in an onslaught. The combat waged back and forth and around, as the revenant's mace took huge chunks out of the cliffs. Finally, however, Muradin roared aloud.

'For Khaz Modan!' he cried.

Then he took on great height and hurled his hammer. It shattered the revenant's shield, and the creature staggered back. As Muradin advanced it brought round its mace to meet the dwarfs axe. The mace was hewn in half, and Muradin slashed the creature across the chest. It faltered, and they knew the blow had been mortal.

Muradin returned to his normal form, as the revenant staggered forward. 'Turn away… before its… too late…' It wheezed.

'Still trying to protect the sword, are you?' asked Arthas, feeling some pity for the creature.

'No…' It said 'trying to protect you… from it…' It wheezed.

Then the darkness within it faded, and it collapsed into a suit of armor. The armor fell into dust and was blown away by a great wind. Arthas and Muradin were left feeling suddenly very bitter and did not at all want to see what lay within the vault. Yet Arthas reminded himself that Frostmourne was their only hope, and as he did so, anticipation suddenly seized him.

He strode forward with Muradin into the cave and saw within it the vault. It was a large room, with a ceiling reaching so high as to be beyond sight. The walls were covered in ice, and a series of obelisks stood around them. And at their center was a dais. And there, above the dais, floated a blade of terrible beauty and lethal design. Parts of its blade were serrated, and on its haft was the symbol of a skull. It was encased in ice, and whispers swirled around it. It was magnificent!

'Behold Muradin,' said Arthas in a tone of wonder. 'our salvation, Frostmourne.'

'Hold lad,' said Muradin as he moved forward. 'there's an inscription on the dais. It says: Whomsoever takes up this blade shall wield power eternal, just as the blade rends flesh, so must power scar the spirit.' He looked to Arthas in horrified realization. 'Oh, I should have known. The blade is cursed! Let's get the hell out of here!' And he rushed away.

Yet Arthas stayed his ground, stepping forward. What he said next came naturally to him. 'I would gladly bear any curse to save my homeland.'

'Leave it be, Arthas.' Muradin urged him. 'Forget this business, and lead your men home!'

'And what about Mal'ganis?!' cried Arthas 'Do you really think he's just going to just go home because we beat him once?! He's going to come back, and we're not going to be able to stop him!' His mind grew suddenly terribly calm. 'Nothing shall prevent me from having my revenge, old friend. Not even you.'

He raised his hammer and began to channel power through it, a smile coming to his face as he did so. 'Now… I call out to the spirits of this place. I will give anything, or pay any price, if only you will help me save my people.'

Frostmourne began to shake within the ice. The whispers intensified, and a terrible groaning sound like the earth being rent asunder could be heard. Then two things happened at once. Frostmourne burst free of the ice and flew into the air. The ice that had held it shattered, and there was a flash! Muradin cried out, and Arthas looked to see him falling away, bloodied and wounded. Arthas stepped forward and fell to a kneel by him, feeling oddly detached to see his oldest friend dying before his eyes. He should do something about this, shouldn't he? Summoning the light, as had become his habit, he healed the dwarfs wound. Even so, he remained unconscious, and Arthas rose up, feeling as though he hardly knew the dwarf.

He felt nothing.

Then he heard a low sound and turned to see Frostmourne descend and plant itself into the ground behind him. A smile came to his face as he walked forward. He looked to the paladin hammer in his hand and suddenly realized that he could not wield both. His eyes scanned over the hammer somewhat regretfully, and finally, he cast it aside.

He had never been worthy of being a paladin anyway.

Yet he was worthy of Frostmourne. He claimed the sword as his own. Or perhaps, it claimed him.

* * *

Truthfully Arthas did not remember the return journey. He came to walking from the waygate holding his blade in hand and marveling at it. A man who had remained loyal to him through much approached. Was his name Falric? Yes, that was it. He could hear the sound of battle raging from the base.

'Prince Arthas!' cried Falric 'Where is Muradin? We can't hold out for much longer.'

'Muradin is dead,' said Arthas, feeling some sensation of regret. 'But take heart captain. The enemy will not long stand against the might of Frostmourne.' He made his way forward, and Falric followed looking concerned.

Entering the base, Arthas saw that Falric had been right. A section of wall had been caved in, and the undead streamed over it, their way barred by the stalwart forces of Lordaeron who fought tooth and nail to hold them back. Riflemen stood on the walls, firing, while canon shot into the ranks of the encroaching hordes. The bodies of countless undead lay scattered across the field, while the men of Lordaeron dragged their dead back behind the line to protect them from being despoiled. And far beyond the battle, Arthas saw him.

Mal'ganis was watching, directing his forces against the Alliance. The Dreadlord Mal'ganis was the one behind all of this. He'd made Arthas slay his people, and caused untold ruin. Because of him, those closest to Arthas had one by one betrayed him. If not for the Dreadlord, so much that had been lost would still have existed. Their eyes met. The Dreadlord smiled.

Hatred filled Arthas heart and he rushed forward. As he passed his dead comrades he raised Frostmourne and summoned the light. The many dead soldiers arose to new life as Arthas passed through his forces and entered the fray. He rushed past a host of ghouls and abominations and halted, spinning Frostmourne around as he faced the rest of his enemy.

The ghouls exploded into a mass of blood as across the undead lines his enemies knew fear. Arthas laid about him, slashing down everything in sight cleaving apart the hosts of the undead like a hot knife through butter. Raising one hand, he summoned down a pale light to obliterate an entire line of undead. His forces rallied behind him, yet they could not keep up with his advanced as he charged forth towards Mal'ganis.

Once again the Dreadlord fled, disappearing into green mist. Yet Arthas knew somehow where he had fled, and he did not mind waiting a bit longer. Instead, he fell upon the remaining undead, hacking through them. Dozens fell with one sweep of his blade as a smile came to Arthas' face. He waded through them, hacking and slashing without end. More and more came out of the passes to meet him and each one met a similar fate. Crypt fiends launched their dark magics at him to no avail, and he tore through them as well. The sound of gunfire could be heard distantly, shooting down many of the enemy yet Arthas didn't care. The blade in his hand was perfect! It was everything he could have ever desired in a sword! With this, he would undo all of his enemies!

A vast host of undead clustered around him, rushing at him from all sides. Yet Arthas' smile never dimmed as he drove the blade into the ground. The light rose around him and obliterated all of them in an instant. From the battlements his men watched, looking with awe and horror at what was occurring. Arthas felt a twinge of annoyance at this. It was true that with Frostmourne he could defeat the entire enemy army alone, yet they should be doing something!

'Falric!' he called 'There is an undead bastion to the east of here! Take all the knights and raze it to the ground! Let none survive!' It didn't occur to him to ask how he knew these things. Only that the complete annihilation of his enemies must be done.

'As you will my King,' said Falric, recovering somewhat. 'I mean, my Prince.' He turned to a soldier. 'You, ready a horse and gather the knights! We march!'

Marwynn made his way out of the wreckage, looking upon the bodies that littered the ground. And Arthas realized that the results were rather impressive. The corpses of his enemies covered the ground, piled on top of each other, a layer of shattered limbs and ruined monsters. They numbered in the tens of thousands, an adequate pyre for his losses. For now.

'Prince Arthas,' said Marwynn 'are you alright? You… you don't seem yourself.'

'I've never felt better,' said Arthas 'maintain the defense. I will deal with Drak'theron Keep myself.'

'But-' began Marwynn.

Yet Arthas had no more time for him. He turned and rushed into the wastes, the destruction of all who opposed him now his only concern. His smile never faded.

* * *

Falric mounted a horse and readied his sword. Of all the things he had been expected to do, he had never seen this coming. And it gave him a certain satisfaction to do so. 'You men, by order of Prince Arthas you are to follow me into battle! There is an undead bastion to the east of here! The Prince has ordered it leveled! We march now!'

'Who are you to command us?' asked a Knight 'I heard of no noble blood which runs through your veins. What makes you worthy to command us?'

Falric gave him a look, and the look was enough to make his horse nearly throw him. When he had been chosen as the head of Prince Arthas' royal guard, there had been a veritable scandal. Who was this peasant who had been promoted to a role reserved for only nobility. There had been a number of uncharitable and scandalous suggestions about Falric's relationship to his Prince. Falric had weathered these, for they were nothing to what he had faced before. He had no ambitions of his own, his only desire was to serve.

Yet he took a certain satisfaction from what he said now:

'The Knights of Lordaeron have been practically forgotten in this campaign thus far, haven't they?' asked Falric 'You weren't around to fight the undead until Harthglen, and at Stratholme only a few of your deigned to dirty your hands. As always it fell to the common soldier to do what needed to be done. And then at Daggercap Bay, the battle was won before any of you had even set foot on the shores of Northrend.

You speak of nobility? Of worthiness? I fought in every major battle of the second war. I slew two death knights, one at Southshore, and one at the siege of Lordaeron City. For my valor I was chosen as the head of Prince Arthas' personal guard, a choice which many of you scorned him for. I have walked the failing fields of Lordaeron, and slain creatures beyond your worst nightmares.

If you think the station you were born into makes you my better, then step forward and I will prove the truth over your corpse! If not, then you will follow your Prince's orders. Am I clear?'

Not one stepped forward.

'Y-yes sir,' said the knight. 'we're with you.'

'Excellent,' said Falric 'follow me!' Then he looked to a group of mortar teams led by Baelgun. 'You men, follow behind and provide us siege support.'

They rode swiftly to the east, and as they did so they encountered a vast host of undead. Meeting them in battle, the knights of Lordaeron fought with a fury and valor which surprised Falric. As he cleaved the skull of a crypt fiend, a knight cut the leg out from under an abomination. Another speared three ghouls which his lance as he rode over them.

Beneath their onslaught, nearly two thousand undead could not withstand them. Overrun, the creatures were slaughtered to the man, and the necromancers who supported them were slain while trying to flee. On the knights rode, with scarcely a casualty as they rode over the crest of the hill and saw the bastion.

The walls were thick, and many spirit towers dotted the defenses. 'Wait here,' said Falric 'we'll wait for the mortars to arrive.'

'The Prince-'

'The Prince was distracted,' said Falric 'he delegated authority to me specifically so I could make this kind of call. We wait.'

It wasn't long before the mortars came from the base and reached them. The dwarves saluted as Falric rode up to them. 'You men, begin an immediate bombardment of this fortress! Reduce its defenses to rubble! Once you've done that, we'll finish the job.'

'Alright Captain,' said Baelgun 'we'll see this place leveled.'

As the mortars were set up, the teams began a bombardment while the knights stood before them at the ready. Falric and Baelgun observed as the walls little by little were blasted apart. As the hours passed, Baelgun looked to Falric. 'When your Prince returned, Captain, did you see Muradin?'

'I… no.' said Falric 'No I didn't. The Prince told me he was dead.'

Baelgun paled at the words and shuddered. 'That's grave news indeed, how did it happen?'

'I don't know,' said Falric 'the Prince did not say. No doubt at the hands of the swords defenders.'

'Maybe,' said Baelgun doubtfully. 'I don't know.'

'Captain Falric!' cried a knight 'The undead are sallying forth!'

Sure enough, the ruined gates opened, and the undead surged forth in great numbers. Mounting his horse, Falric led a great charge against the undead and met them in vicious combat. Here the knights once again proved their valor, as the bombardment continued. The clang of steel was mixed with the sound of mortars, and the echo of bombs bursting in air.

And far above the storm clouds burst and it began to snow.

Within the hour thousands more undead had been crushed, and the walls reduced. The knights of Lordaeron rode in, cutting down all that stood in their way as the snow grew ever harder around them. By the time they had finished laying the bastion to waste, the temperature had dropped and they could scarcely see in front of them.

'Damn it, Captain!' cursed the knight. 'Your cursed Prince has led us into a blizzard!'

'We'll return to base and take shelter there.' said Falric 'Ride quickly, before the roads are snowed in.'

As they rode onwards, leaving behind them ashes, the snows built up gradually and their horses struggled to keep moving. Eventually, they had to dismount and lead them on foot. Several of the creatures fell and died from the cold. By the knights of Lordaeron reached camp the sun was setting and darkness creeping in. They quickly stabled their horses and took shelter.

For his part, Falric entered the castle and made his way to the throne room. There he found Marwynn pacing restlessly. His friend looked up. 'Falric, where the hell have you been?'

'We found the bastion Prince Arthas spoke of.' said Falric 'We leveled it, and killed everything inside. Where is Prince Arthas? He should know.'

'Arthas has lost his mind!' cried Marwynn 'First he burns our own ships to strand us here, then… then he wanders off into the wastes alone! He's gone to kill Mal'ganis personally!'

'What?!' said Falric 'You let him go alone!'

'He ordered me to defend the camp!' snapped Marwynn 'And after what he did to that army I half believed he could do it! Now I don't know where he is!'

'We have to go after him.' said Falric.

'It's too dangerous with all this snow.' snapped Marwynn. 'And with the sun dropping, we'd freeze to death. We'll just have to hope he finds shelter and search for him then. The fool! What possessed him to do this now?!'

Utter silence fell over them, and Falric realized that his master was rapidly falling beyond his reach.

* * *

With a single stroke of Frostmourne a great gulf was hacked in the undead outpost. Dragging the sword around the base of the structure, Arthas stepped over the corpses of countless enemies, until he had hewn through perhaps a quarter of the stonework. The outpost began to tremble and he stepped back as it collapsed, falling in on itself and into ruins.

Stepping over the ruins he saw a necromancer. The man fell to his knees. 'Mercy master, please-'

Arthas hewed his head from his shoulders and walked onwards without a second thought as the snow fell upon him all the harder. He didn't even feel the cold.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

Well that's a wrap. I guess I figured I'd make this a two-parter. One part to chronicle the finding of Frostmourne and the fall of Muradin, and the other to chronicle the fall of Drak'theron Keep. I figured if I finished up the mission now it would end up taking ten thousand words. Writing psychotic Arthas was actually pretty fun since he's kind of become a holy avenger version of a slasher movie villain.


	12. The Fall of Drak'theron Keep

**Chapter Twelve: The Fall of Drak'theron Keep**

The wind raged without relent. The snow swirled in droves so thick that one could not see more than a few feet in front of them. A biting chill bad enough to drive even the undead inside now swarmed throughout the lands surrounding Drak'theron Keep. Inside the fortress itself, however, the howling was muted by black stone walls. The cold was driven back a bit by spells designed to keep Mal'ganis' living servants, and those unfortunate enough to be his prisoners, alive and well. as Necromancer Mustang made his way through the halls. Once, a long time ago, Mustang had been a promising mage of the Kirin Tor. Yet he was fascinated by the darkness, and for his efforts was cast out. He was in time called to Northrend.

There he had met Mal'ganis, who taught him and his brethren much about the dark arts. For his sake, Mustang had been raising countless undead over the past few months. Far more than was normal. An effort which now seemed for naught.

'Did you hear the reports?' asked Malcov, a thin-faced necromancer of equal rank coming through another darkly lit passage to follow Mustang. 'The Prince destroyed another outpost. Just before the blizzards hit really badly.'

'We've lost more undead in a few days than we have in years.' said Mustang bitterly. 'I tell you as soon as this is over the living are going to be pressing at the borders all over again. It'll take years to recover from this mess.'

'True enough,' said Malcov 'still, no doubt Lord Mal'ganis knows what he is doing.'

They came to the steel doors, great and heavy with skulls engraved on them. Mustang rapped upon them with his staff and waited to be acknowledged. After a moment the doors opened with a groan and he and Malcov walked through. They found Mal'ganis standing in the center of a circular room, gradually draining the life from an elven female.

She screamed and screamed as the Dreadlord little by little, with agonizing slowness drew out her life force. Eventually she ran out of breath and stopped screaming, falling into unconsciousness as Mal'ganis continued to drain her until she fell dead. With a flick of his claw, the woman was consumed in green flame, and fell to the floor as ashes.

The Dreadlord looked up. 'Ah, you have both returned. What news?'

'Sir,' said Malcov 'the blizzard has been raging for nearly two days now. If the Prince didn't find shelter before it hit, he's surely dead by now.'

'No, necromancer.' said Mal'ganis 'He is alive. And he is coming here.'

'Here?' asked Mustang 'You mean that the Prince is traveling through a blizzard to attack us? Alone? He has gone quite mad then.'

'If he hadn't I'd be disappointed in my efforts.' replied Mal'ganis 'But do not be fooled. He will not be easy prey, even if he is alone.' He motioned with one hand, and suddenly they were teleported to one of the towers overlooking the lands surrounding Drak'theron Keep. Through a window shielded by magic they had a perfect view of endless whiteness.

And out of that whiteness there came a light. It was dim at first, but then it grew in intensity until they were forced to avert their eyes. The blizzard was clearing, and as it did across the snowy wastes they saw the Prince of Lordaeron walking towards them over the land, Frostmourne in hand. Him taking it up was an important part of the plan, some scheme of the dark lords. Yet the servants of Mal'ganis and the servants of Ner'zhul did not share information. What purpose was served by giving the Prince that kind of power?

'How…' Mustang began 'how can he have come all this way?'

'Perhaps his light has guided him,' reflected Mal'ganis 'a final gasp before the plunge. Send out all our remaining forces. Summon reinforcements from the surrounding lands, call forth the Frostwyrms as well, send them to destroy his soldiers.'

'Do you believe they will be able to stop him, milord?' asked Malcov, somewhat fearfully.

'Of course not,' said Mal'ganis 'but it should prove amusing to observe.'

Mustang was beginning to think that Mal'ganis did not have his subordinates best interests, or even victory at heart. Yet it was too late to go back now. He kneeled. 'It will be done, milord.'

In the distance, the Prince of Lordaeron broke into a run.

'Magnificent…' said Mal'ganis.

* * *

Outside the gates of Drak'theron Keep creaked open, and out of them spilled countless monsters, creatures sewn together from flesh and bone. Ghouls snarled as they bounded forward on all fours, their long tongues lolling in anticipation of the coming meal. The stones shook with their onslaught, and the snows around them seemed blurred with darkness.

Over the walls came gargoyles, hundreds of gargoyles spilling over the walls towards him. In the distance he could see Frostwyrms flying towards him, roaring. Yet within Arthas another power had been growing. It was as if every ounce of light that had built up within his being over the many years of benevolence had suddenly been unleashed for one final battle. Raising his sword, he summoned the light.

There was a brilliant flash, and the front ranks of gargoyles, ghouls and abominations were consumed in its brilliance. Arthas fell upon the ranks behind with savage glee, summoning the light at his call, hacking and slashing without mercy, without forgiveness. His world had become so simple since he took up this blade. The fate of the expedition did not matter. The colony did not matter. His status as a Paladin did not matter. All that mattered was that Mal'ganis die this day.

As he carved a vicious swath through the undead, Frostmourne's hunger insatiable as always, yet more came. Yet these did not target him but passed him by. The Frostwyrms were not coming for him, they were going past him. Towards the colony…

The colony, it needed to be protected. The whispers tried to turn him away, but he knew he must defend the innocent.

Summoning the light he raised Frostmourne high into the air and channeled power through it. The Frostwyrms screeched as the light tore through them, sending them falling down towards the ground, as many gargoyles were consumed. Yet where they fell, many more took their place, and Arthas was soon forced to defend himself from an onslaught of ground forces who fought to keep him from interfering.

Surrounded on all sides he fought with sweeps of his whispering blade. It told him that his men could handle themselves, that his attention should be focused upon Mal'ganis. And it was right. He carved his way through the endless tide until finally, the undead dared not approach him. At last, he came to the gates of Drak'theron Keep.

'Open in the name of Frostmourne!' he cried, before striking them.

The gates reeled and bent beneath the force of the blow, seemingly by some power beyond merely the sword's will. With another strike, the gates caved in and he found countless undead waiting beyond. Rushing in he swung his sword to behead the front rank and sent the light out in an arc which consumed those behind them. A large force of abominations charged him, but Arthas passed them by in a blur. Halting he turned round, as the creatures groaned.

Then they exploded into strips of flesh and blood. Crypt Fiends fired their dark magic at him to no avail, for the light formed a shield which deflected all their assaults. As he approached they stepped backward, fear coming into their eyes. 'M-mercy…' they said.

'Mercy?' asked Arthas, smile unfading. 'Like you showed to my people?'

He rushed forward in wrath and cleaved through them with glee, hacking them in twain. Some tried to flee, however these he caught and cut to pieces as he scaled up a set of stairs and found a fortified door. With one stroke the door gave way and he rushed into the keep itself. Within its twisting halls, he found many cultists and necromancers. They threw their spells against him in vain, as he hacked through them.

Many pleaded for mercy, while others tried to escape. However, none survived his wrath, the wrath of the light. And as their blood was poured out upon the flagstones, Arthas found his bloodlust only increase. Soon he was fighting his way into the center of Drak'theron Keep. Many ghouls and abominations came forward to stop him, yet none succeeded and all died. Their broken and hewn limbs fell upon the ground. Finally, he reached the throne room and hurled open the gates.

Yet Mal'ganis was not there. He should have been there! Once again the coward had fled! Yet the whispers of Frostmourne consoled him, told him that the matter was in hand. He found himself being drawn away from the empty halls of Drak'theron Keep, pausing only to finish off a few hiding cultists. As he emerged out into the snows and saw the uncountable corpses of the Dreadlords minions he took satisfaction from his efforts.

He was drawn then away from the keep, far away to a distant graveyard, that same graveyard. As he walked amongst the countless stones, he saw Mal'ganis standing there before a great tomb. The ground here was blighted and unholy, and the winds kicked up as Arthas walked onwards. Snow began to fall once more as the Dreadlord let him approach, and smiled.

'So…' said Mal'ganis 'you've taken up Frostmourne at the expense of your comrades, lives. Just as the dark lord said you would. You're stronger than I thought.' His voice was pleased and filled with interest at once.

'You waste your breath, Mal'ganis.' said Arthas as he neared. 'I heed only the voice of Frostmourne now.'

Mal'ganis' smile widened. 'You hear the voice of the Dark Lord. He whispers to you through the blade you wield. What does he say, young human? What does the dark lord of the dead tell you now?!' His voice was fascinated, arrogant and smug. Arthas hated him now more than ever.

That hatred was all that mattered now. Revelations that in other times and places would have been shocking, horrifying even, simply did not matter. Everything, from the slaughter of the villagers in Strahnbrad to the Culling of Stratholme, to the expedition to Northrend, and the finding of Frostmourne itself, all of it had been one chain of events leading to this singular moment.

The whispers intensified. Frostmourne hungered.

'He tells me that the time for my vengeance has come.' said Arthas.

'What?' said Mal'ganis and for the first time, he seemed at a loss. 'He can't possibly mean to-'

Arthas lunged forward and hacked Mal'ganis right down through the shoulder. Frostmourne cleaved quickly through armor and flesh and bone, and the Dreadlord screamed. His scream echoed throughout the length and breadth of the lands and was heard for miles around. His death was felt by many.

Mal'ganis fell to the blighted ground as his body went limp. His eyes were empty. He was dead.

'It is finished.' said Arthas simply. 'I'm so tired.'

After taking his vengeance on Mal'ganis, Prince Arthas wandered off into the frozen wastes of Northrend. He had no particular goal or thought of what to do next. He simply walked aimlessly into the darkness of the world. And as he did so Frostmourne whispered within his mind...

* * *

Far away Falric and Marwynn had more pressing concerns. They had hardly had time to search for the missing Prince when reports came in of a vast undead army approaching them. Rallying their defenses they readied themselves to withstand a second assault. A barricade was thrown up at the breach in the wall, and every tower was manned.

Then came the undead. Frostwyrms breathed their freezing breath to chill men to the morrow as ghouls threw themselves at the barricade. Gyrocopters engaged in a dogfight with the gargoyles a dwarven riflemen shot at the undead flyers. Abominations were blown to pieces by the canon towers, only to be replaced by more.

The barricade was cast down and Falric led his men forward, sword in hand. 'Hold them at the breach!' he cried, before hacking a ghoul in half. Ducking under an abominations cleaver he cut one of its legs out from under it and let it topple down upon its fellows. A full melee ensued, as footmen stabbed and slashed and priests aided them with the light. Mages slowed the enemy advance and cast firebolts into their ranks slaying many.

Yet the undead were implacable and no matter how many of them died they pressed on. The frosywyrms were slaying many of the riflemen. At that, there came a bird's cry, but it was far too deep for any bird.

'Gryphon riders!' cried Marwynn 'The gryphon riders are coming!'

The dwarves raced against the frostwyrms, hurling their hammers to bring the creatures down. At the same time, the knights charged out against the undead ground forces and drove them back, hacking and slashing. Such was the intensity of the counterattack that the undead were driven completely out of the breach, and beyond. The Alliance drove the enemy before them until they were fighting outside the walls.

Then more undead arrived, more frostwyrms, more abominations, more of everything. 'Fall back!' called Falric 'Fall back to the breach!'

Retreating the Alliance made ready to make its stand as an endless tide of undead emerged from every pass and crevasse. Their numbers seemed truly limitless, and several men fell to their knees in despair.

'We're doomed…' cried one 'curse Prince Arthas for bringing us out here!'

'Stand up damn you!' cried Falric 'Stand and fight!'

They obeyed and made ready. Falric saw the enemy approaching, and vowed that they would survive this. Their casualties would be heavy, and the price high. Yet they would emerge victorious and cling to life until help could arrive. Until Prince Arthas could be found. It was a resolve somewhat shaken by the fact that even more undead were arriving.

At that moment there came a horn call. Looking up to a nearby hill, Falric stared. An ice troll of many years was standing there, blowing a note on a horn. Lowering it he raised his staff. 'The Prince of Lordaeron aided da ice trolls in der hour a need! Now we be coming ta return da favor!'

A roar echoed and out of the hills spilled ice trolls and ogres in great numbers and ranks beyond count. The undead turned to face them, and a bloody battle ensued as the Alliance stared in shock. Marwynn came up being him. 'Falric, what do we do?'

'Don't just stand there!' cried Falric 'To their aid! Together we'll carve this army up! For Prince Arthas!'

'For Prince Arthas!' came the echo.

The forces of the Alliance spilled through the breach to catch the enemy in a pincer movement. Falric and Marwynn hewed their way together into the center of the enemy ranks until they found themselves fighting back to back. A ghoul got past Falrics shield and slashed him across the leg. Falling to one knee, Falric stabbed the creature, only for an abomination to loom over him.

At that moment an axe spun through the air and split the creatures skull followed by many more which slew it. Falric felt the light healing his wounds and he arose to see the old troll approaching him through the fray. Around them, the battle was turning against the scourge, as the undead fell before the onslaught.

Falric went to meet the troll. 'My thanks to you sir. However, I admit the reason for your assistance escapes me. The Prince never spoke of it.'

'It be too long ta explain now.' said Zul'amon 'Suffice ta be saying that the undead be da enemies of all.'

'Fair enough,' laughed Falric.

However, Marwynn eyed Zul'amon with suspicion and said nothing.

The battle of Drak'theron Keep lasted several days in all and cost the Alliance perhaps a thousand men, a fifth of those they had brought with them. However for their losses the Alliance paid the scourge back dearly, although no official count was ever recorded Falric suspected that the number of scourge dead was a little over one hundred thousand. Marwynn argued for less than that, while the men would inflate the numbers to more than double that amount. As a result of this enormous military disaster, the undead of Northrend were quiet for years as they attempted to rebuild their devastated numbers. Many of the natives took this as a chance to stage assaults of their own, and many smaller undead outposts disappeared off the map.

It was a blow which the scourge operations would not fully recover from for a very long time. However for now, Falric had more pressing matters to attend to. 'Get the wounded to the priests! Burn the dead.'

'We should bury them.' said Marwynn.

'We're in the heart of darkness, Marwynn.' said Falric 'We cannot afford to give the undead more soldiers. Burn them.'

At that moment the gryphon riders landed before them and dismounted. Their leader came forward, a tattoed, gruff looking fellow wearing a battered helmet. 'Well, that was quite a bloody fight. Lost a couple of good men I did. I'm Kraltos Hammersmash of the Wildhammer Dwarves.' He offered his hand and Falric took it. Then his gaze fell on Zul'amon and an ogre chieftain who walked up behind him. 'Whats his kind doing here?'

'Zul'amon and his allies have come to our assistance.' said Falric 'We have made common cause against the undead. I realize that you may have a problem with this, however, for the moment I ask that you stay your wrath.

For now, I must thank you gentlemen, for your assistance. Without it, our casualties might have been far higher.'

'King Terenas dispatched us to help you how we could.' said Kraltos, still eyeing the trolls and ogres distrustfully. 'You can thank me by giving me a private meeting away from these others, there are things you should know, lad.' Lad was a general term applied by dwarves to any adult male human. Shorter lifespans were a bitch.

'Before we do anything of the sort,' said Falric 'we must find Prince Arthas. He arrived and defeated an undead army by himself, before running off into the snows. I don't believe he is well. Take your gryphons and scour the area for any sign of him. He is holding a powerful Runeblade.'

'Why are you giving the commands?' asked Kraltos 'Shouldn't Prince Muradin be in command?'

'Prince Muradin is…' Falric breathed. 'Prince Muradin is dead. Prince Arthas told me himself. They went seeking a runeblade called Frostmourne of terrible power. I saw him use it to annihilate an entire undead army. Yet… ever since he got back Arthas has not been the same.

He charged off into the wilderness and hasn't been heard from since.'

'I think I can be helping,' said Zul'amon 'some of me scouts saw him annihilate an undead outpost, buildings and all with that sword. When the blizzard hit and we had to go indoors, your Prince was headed dead towards Drak'theron Keep.'

The name sent a chill through Falric. 'What is this Drak'theron Keep?'

'It be the capital of Mal'ganis' kingdom.' said Zul'amon darkly. 'No one who ever goes there comes back. Sometimes the dreadlord be shipping slaves in to torment to death. Elves, humans, dwarves, none of em come back out. Yet their screams be echoing across the lands.'

'Can you lead us there?' asked Falric quickly.

'I can,' said Zul'amon 'but my trolls don't want to be assaulting that place.'

'Damn it, we have the undead on the run!' snapped Falric 'We will never get a better chance to take out their main stronghold than now! If we wait a week to regroup the enemy will have gathered more undead!'

'Falric,' said Marwynn 'we just barely scraped by a victory. We-'

'Prince Arthas left me in command,' said Falric 'I'm taking the knights, and mortar crews and going to lay siege to it. You will remain here and secure the fortress. Call up Faldine from the colony to secure the defenses.'

'…Yes sir,' said Marwynn.

'Zul'amon are you coming?' asked Falric 'Your priests could be of great use to us.'

'Yes,' said Zul'amon 'you be right, we never be getting a better chance to drive the rotting dead before us then now. And maybe we'll be saving your Prince in the process.'

'Your going on an offensive now lad?!' asked Kraltos 'With these things?!'

'Yes,' said Falric 'and I need you to scout ahead to Drak'theron Keep. Find out what kind of defenses we can expect and keep an eye out for Prince Arthas. If you find him, try to detain him until we can catch up.'

'Don't you understand!' said Kraltos 'They destroyed your ships! They're the ones that stranded you here!'

The statement sent a shudder through the men and swords were drawn as the Alliance formed up. The trolls readied their axes while the ogres raised their clubs. 'Foul beasts!' snarled a soldier.

'Kill them all!' cried a knight.

'Hold where you are!' cried Falric and they held. 'I'll kill the first man to draw blood!' His words struck the forces of the Alliance and they held in place.

'We'll not be starting anything,' said Zul'amon 'but keep yer axes ready.'

And his words held them in place. The trolls ogres and alliance races faced each other down. Falric stepped forward. 'We have no time for this petty bickering amongst ourselves.'

'But-' began a soldier.

'The ships were destroyed by the will of Prince Arthas.' said Falric.

'I knew it.' said Marwynn 'You were in on this weren't you Falric?! You value your loyalty to him over the men who fight and die for you!'

'Everything Prince Arthas has done has been for the betterment of Lordaeron.' replied Falric simply.

'But King Terenas-' began a soldier.

'King Terenas was wrong!' snapped Falric 'Do you have any idea how many innocent lives would have been saved if he had sealed off the northlands? For all his benevolence he does not understand the threat we face! Arthas does, he has been fighting it all this time, and I have been there with him.

Had we returned to Lordaeron there might have been peace for a few years, but the undead would have returned. You've seen how great their numbers were here. With a few years of peace, Mal'ganis could have made such an army as to wash away all resistance.

Our current priority is to finish the task set before us and destroy Drak'theron Keep. Until that mission is completed everything else must be put on hold. Now, those of you assigned to defense return to the base and man your posts. The rest of you, follow me into battle.'

They obeyed. Reluctantly, but they obeyed.

Falric mounted a horse and led his forces away as the gryphon riders took off behind him. As they marched away, Baelgun came up to him, looking very conflicted. 'Yes?' asked Falric. 'What is it?'

Baelgun opened his mouth to speak. Then he closed it. 'Nothing that can't wait.'

Or nothing that Baelgun could trust Falric with. The suspicion would not go away that Baelgun was hiding something from him. Yet for now, he put it from his mind and continued. A few hours later they came upon the remnants of the undead outpost Zul'amon had spoken of. It was a broken and destroyed mess, and many bodies lay upon the ground, numbering in the hundreds. The structure had been cast down and looked to have been cut with a sword.

At the edges of the blight natural earth was beginning to replace the blight already. Stubbornly forcing its way back across the earth. Pressing on they travelled across many hills and rises. During this time Kraltos flew in on his gryphon. 'Lad, there is something you should see. We found Drak'theron Keep but… it looks empty. We dove low and no one so much as fired a shot at us.'

'We'll press on,' said Falric 'see what this is about.'

'I be having a bad feeling about this mon.' said Zul'amon as they pressed on.

Sure enough, they found Drak'theron Keep. Its gates had been hacked down by a sword, though they were of pure steel. The front guardians were all corpses. Falric looked to the commander of the knights. 'We'll go in, and see what this is about. Keep your eyes open. Kraltos, scan the skies for any sign of enemies.'

'I be going to investigate something,' said Zul'amon 'I be sensing something, a presence I not be feeling since…' His eyes glazed with memory, but he shook it away and broke off with a group of trolls.

'Let him go,' said Falric 'our priority is to free any prisoners.'

They found only more corpses within the walls of Drak'theron Keep. Endless groups of corpses, falling hewn and destroyed around them. Within the structure, it was a similar story. As they explored the endless halls, they found an empty throne room. It was practically the only place not to have corpses in it.

'Sir,' said a knight. 'we found someone, a necromancer.'

'Please, spare me!' cried a voice as he was dragged out.

'Shall we deliver the killing blow?' asked the knight.

'No,' said Falric 'I want to know what happened here. You, tell me all that has happened and I may let you live.'

'I… I am Malcov,' said the necromancer. 'I was a servant of Mal'ganis, responsible for organizing the supply lines for his mortal servants, and ensuring there were fresh corpses for his minions use.'

'I don't believe I asked you who you were.' said Falric 'What happened here?'

'Your master, Prince Arthas happened!' said Malcov 'He… he stormed the gates singlehanded and slew our guardians. Nothing could stop him. Even Lord Mal'ganis fled. I… I was afraid so I hid in the dungeons while everyone else went out to fight. He didn't come down there.'

'Dungeons?' asked Falric 'Take me to them.'

Malcov led him down a winding set of stairs and into a pale and bleak place. Its walls were all of steel and the cells were white. Through windows in each cell, he could see people, people of every race shape and size sealed in pods of magic. The only race he knew of that was not accounted for were the elves. They were clothed in rags. 'Who are these people?'

'Anyone we could find really,' said Malcov 'with all the deaths happening by the scourge's hand no one noticed a few disappearances. Lord Mal'ganis gained pleasure from draining them of their life force, I think.'

'No elves,' said Falric, dark suspicions coming to his mind. 'why no elves?'

'They are in a separate cell.' said Malcov 'I'll lead you to it.'

'Very well,' said Falric, before turning to the knight commander. 'get these people out of here.'

'You don't want to do that,' said Malcov quickly.

'Why not?' asked Falric, eyes narrowing.

'The spellwork on those runes is very specific,' said Malcov 'if you tried to free them by brute force, those being sealed would die. I… I can help with that.'

'Very well then,' said Falric 'release them.'

'You don't understand,' said Malcov 'I may be one of Lord Mal'ganis' chosen necromancers but I wasn't taught the spells for this. It was a different department, and the ones who did are now all dead by your Prince's hand.'

'Then I suppose we'll just have to assign some mages to sorting this out.' reflected Falric.

'That's where I can help.' said Malcov 'Since I already know much of dark magic, I'll probably have an easier time of comprehending the spellwork. Without my help, your mages could be flying blind. It could take years.'

'And this coincidentally requires us to keep you alive.' realized Falric. 'Yes, I see where you are going with this. Very well, show me to the other cells.'

Malcov led Falric down the corridor to another cell. Within it were countless elves, clothes in scanty garments that were far finer than those on the others. They were all female. 'Why are the elves kept separately?' asked Falric.

'They are harder to find,' said Malcov 'Lord Mal'ganis enjoys draining them on special occasions, only one at a time. With the others, he might drain two or three, but he prefers to savor the elves.'

'And you willingly assisted him in these atrocities?' asked Falric in disgust.

'If I was not willing, I would not be here, milord.' said Malcov with a shrug.

'You had best find ways to make yourself very useful, Malcov.' said Falric 'The of killing you is more appealing by the moment.'

'Then allow me to demonstrate one way.' said Malcov 'Lord Mal'ganis was keeping your Prince under careful observation. He had a personal interest in him.'

'Yes, Prince Arthas recognized that he was being baited.' reflected Falric 'This is not news to us. We chose to spring his trap, knowing full well the consequences.'

'You don't even know what the trap was.' said Malcov in a tone of contempt. 'Neither do I, but I do know that Mal'ganis feasted upon an elf in the aftermath of your Prince turning the tide against him. He was celebrating. Things must have at least appeared to be going according to plan.'

A chill went down Falric's spine. 'According to- Mal'ganis is beaten. His fortress is overrun, even if he has more minions this was not a victory!'

'There is more than one kind of victory,' mused Malcov 'the field might be yours and yet you can still lose. I do not pretend to know the mind of my master, but it is my theory that he had a personal interest in Prince Arthas, that went beyond merely an enemy to be defeated. Bringing the armies of the Alliance to battle seemed secondary to ensuring Arthas continued on the road to darkness.'

'The road to darkness?' asked Falric 'What are you talking about.'

'He slaughtered his own people,' said Malcov 'defied the wishes of Uther Lightbringer and his father, and stranded his men in

Northrend for revenge. Do these seem like the actions of a Paladin to you?'

'Out of necessity,' said Falric 'there was no other choice.'

'That was perhaps the brilliance of Mal'ganis' efforts,' reflected Malcov 'he presented his enemy a choice where the right thing to do was impossible to reconcile with the survival of his people. It was a stroke of brilliance if I may say so.'

Falric set one hand to his sword. 'Your master has failed. And he will soon be dead if he is not already.'

'Has he?' asked Malcov, smiling in a pleasant manner. 'And will he?'

'I've just about had enough of you, necromancer.' said Falric, before glancing to his knight. 'Take this man to a cell, keep him there.'

Armored gauntlets seized Malcov and dragged him away, as Falric turned to make his way out of the dungeons, up the steps and through the fortress to the walls of Drak'theron Keep. The bodies had been piled into great heaps and were being burned. Yet there were many more to consume by flame before their work would be done. Amidst this, he saw a troll approaching him.

'You there!' one called 'Do you be Captain Falric?'

'I am,' said Falric. 'what news?'

'My master Zul'amon be calling you. There be something you need to be seeing. I'll lead you to him.'

'Very well,' said Falric 'I'll be down in a moment.' He turned to the knight commander. 'You, whats your name?'

'Richard sir.'

'Take command of Drak'theron Keep. Draw the mortars and forces in here, then send runners to base. Tell them that we require sorcerers for a matter of arcane magic. And-' He looked to the corpses strewn throughout the keep. 'Have some men help the dwarves in burning these?'

'We're knights,' said Richard 'you expect us to dirty our hands with manual labor?'

'If we don't burn these corpses,' said Falric 'then a single squad of necromancers could restart this entire battle. You are the only men I have on hand to work with, so I'm not going to let you abstain. We all must make sacrifices for the greater good. And set some men on watch, call some of the dwarves to begin inspecting the defenses. I want to adapt these to our own use.'

'We're… we're digging in sir?' asked the knight.

'Only until we can unseal the prisoners within.' said Falric 'But that could take quite some time. I'd love nothing more than to obliterate this wretched place from existence with mortar fire, destroy every wretched stone of it, but we cannot all get what we want.' He looked to a few knights, then looked back to the troll. 'I must go alone for this.'

Falric made his way out of the broken gates and followed the troll through the wastes and eventually came to a graveyard. They found Zul'amon waiting for them, standing over the hewn body of the Dreadlord Mal'ganis. It was unmistakeable, his claws and pale skin. Falric looked at the body in satisfaction. 'It wasn't you, was it?' He asked Zul'amon.

'How ye be guessing?' asked Zul'amon.

'This was done by a sword,' said Falric 'I recognize the marks. Probably with a serrated edge and a blade of unusual shape.' His eyes widened. 'Frostmourne.'

'That was what I be thinking myself.' said Zul'amon 'But we be finding no sign of your Prince. And if there were any tracks, they were covered up by the snow.'

There was silence.

'Falric,' said Zul'amon 'dis not be a safe region. If he wiped out Drak'theron Keep, and killed Mal'ganis after trudging through a blizzard he's probably dead, mon. No one can do that kind of heroics and not be exhausted.'

'No.' said Falric.

'The darkness presses in around all of us, mon.' said Zul'amon 'But it be doing no more than its appointed task.'

'Arthas is not dead.' said Falric.

Then he turned and walked away into the snows.

* * *

Zul'amon watched the captain depart into the snows, and reflected that there was a terrible darkness behind this. Looking to his warriors, he reflected that these past few days had been a great victory. And yet he was afraid, afraid that things were going to get even worse. Afraid that the humans would turn on them. He turned his mind away from such matters, and looked to his soldiers. 'Bring that necromancer whose been hiding behind the graves here. I want to be cutting him to pieces myself.'

The necromancer, who had assumed himself inconspicuous was grabbed and dragged forward struggling. He was a black haired man with sunken features, and pure black eyes. A neat beard was on his face, and his clothes were very fine. Terror was in his eyes as Zul'amon drew out a knife. 'Think I should start with his nose or his fingers?'

'Maybe his toes.' leered one of the warriors.

'Wait!' said the Necromancer 'I can help you! You don't want to kill me.'

'Oh I rather be thinking I do.' said Zul'amon 'Ya'd better be squealing quick before I cut out your tongue.'

'I can teach you to use the darkness!' said the necromancer.

Zul'amon remained silent. 'Darkness? We already be using the light and its shadows. We know all we need of the darkness.'

'You don't understand,' said the necromancer 'I don't mean shadow magic, the contrast to the light. I mean true darkness. There are powers in this universe far beyond anything we here can comprehend. Powers that can unmake reality as we know it, and recreate the universe is a fashion more suitable to its desires. Haven't you ever wondered why your people have never been able to raise the dead using shadow magic? To summon skeletons or any of that?'

'We not be trying very hard.' said Zul'amon, but he lowered his knife.

'Even if you did it would be fruitless,' said the Necromancer 'the power I wield is not some lesser power to the light created by it contrasting against an imperfect universe. It is greater than the light. Stronger.'

'When last we be looking, you be the one begging for mercy.' noted a warrior.

'Our defeat was not the result of the light.' said the Necromancer 'Haven't you wondered how Arthas Menethil went from needing your help to burn his ships to being able to defeat all our armies on his own? He took up the sword Frostmourne, a blade far greater than any weapon of light. It was created from a stone of absolute darkness, smelted in the fires of hell, and cooled in the waters of the well of eternity. He, a champion of light was found worthy of wielding it through sacrifice. There is no greater resolve than to sacrifice a friend for the sake of power. And he did it.'

'So that's what happened to the dwarf.' said Zul'amon, the pieces falling into place.

'Yes,' said the Necromancer, freeing his arms from the trolls and regaining some measure of dignity. 'yet because he still fought to protect his people, still served the lights cause he was able to wield both darkness and light at once. How much stronger did that combination make him? How much stronger might that combination make you?'

'This... alliance you be suggesting won't be sitting well with our allies.' noted Zul'amon.

'Oh I'm sure it won't.' said the Necromancer. 'But then you must consider that the alliance only is willing to work with you because you have a mutual enemy in the undead scourge. Now the tide is turning against the undead. Tell me, when we have been wiped off the map do you really think that the alliance is going to just pack up and go home? Or will they try to take northrend for their own? You must admit, they appear to be the stronger power than your own? What would you do in that situation?'

Zul'amon thought about how quickly the humans nearly killed them. He thought about how he had suddenly been certain that if hostilities broke out, he would lose. Then he thought about how Arthas had sacrificed the dwarf Muradin. He'd picked up some details in idle conversation with Baelgun, the two had been very old friends. Zul'amon had only recently met him. No, the alliance could not be trusted past the point where the undead were defeated. And they were stronger, they had magics far greater than Zul'amon had, magics beyond just the light. The ability to raise the skeletons of their enemies against them alone would be a huge advantage.

It might be the edge they needed when it came to the inevitable. 'Very well, friend.' said Zul'amon 'I be having a use for ya, I think. You will teach a few of my priests this darkness. And in return I won't hang yer pieces from that tree over there.'

'Much appreciated.' said the necromancer.

'Now, what be your name?' asked Zul'amon.

'My name is Mustang.' said the Necromancer before offering a hand. Zul'amon took it.

Thus was the will of the Lich King fulfilled.

* * *

Perhaps it was by the will of some dark power, or the guidance of the light. Whatever the case Falric wandered through the snows, seeking his Prince. He saw in that time an abandoned village, whose denizens looked to have left in a hurry. The scourge had left blighted ground beneath their feet from their march through and no sign of life could be seen.

Further on he came to ancient ruins, towering over the surrounding landscape. Looking up he saw a vision of a barren and blighted landscape which had never had life. Yet something loomed over them and poured its blood over the land. And as the blood was spilled all kinds of creatures and plants emerged as varied as the stars in the sky. Humanity was not among them. A race of metal giants wandered too and fro, enforcing order, until one day they were cursed, their bodies turned to flesh and blood. In desperation, they sought undeath as a cure.

Now time had swept them away, gone, perhaps forever.

He wandered far over many days, drinking from frozen pools, and finally arrived at the mouth of a cave. Within there was a fire burning, slowly dying. Falric entered and saw his Prince sitting against a wall, Frostmourne resting by the far wall of the cave. The sword seemed somehow alive, as though it was eyeing Falric in hunger. The Prince's eyes were distant and he looked changed. His hair looked paler, and his face too looked white. Relief flooded Falric as he made his way forward.

'My Prince,' said Falric 'Mal'ganis is dead. We have done what we have set out to do. The vengeance of Lordaeron is achieved and the undead are broken and leaderless. We need not stay in this land any further. Let us return home.'

Frostmourne seemed to whisper as Arthas arose, not looking at him. 'The others betrayed me…' he said 'Uther, Jaina, my Father, all of them turned against me.' The whispers became louder, and Falric realized they were not alone.

'They did not understand the need.' said Falric. 'They cannot be held accountable for what is already done. Please milord. let us return to the base, the men are waiting for us.'

'The men…' his voice became hard before some inner conflict overtook him and he looked to the blade by the cave wall. Finally, he turned away from it and looked at Falric. 'take care of them Falric.' His voice was bitter and tired. 'They will not understand.' His eyes were beyond distant, it looked at if he wasn't there. As the whispers continued, Frostmourne seemed to gleam and the Prince who Falric had loved became ever more distant as something else took his place. The eyes there were savage, calculating and cruel. This was the face of a man who had burned his men's ships to deny them passage home, not the boy who brought two freezing guards hot soup on a bitterly cold day.

'Arthas,' said Falric, fearing for his Prince. 'you are unwell. You've been bewitched.' His words seemed to reach something inside Arthas, but Frostmourne's whispers intensified. 'It's that damn sword, isn't it! Cast it away! Can't you see it leering at us!'

An unholy transformation seemed to overtake Arthas as he gripped the sword and rushed at Falric, a terrible looked of fury and anger on his face. Yet the blade halted mere inches away from Falric's throat, poised to stab forward. Falric remained still, keeping his cool as the whispers continued to plague them. What had happened? What unholy enchantment had been laid on the sword. It didn't matter, it fell to Falric to reach his Prince.

'Don't do this, milord.' said Falric 'Don't go where I cannot follow.'

The whispers intensified, as Arthas struggled. He drew back the sword then brought round the flat. Then Falric saw only darkness before him.

* * *

Falric awoke sometime later on the cave floor. He had a terrible bruise on his head and Marwynn was standing over him. The fire had gone out beside him. He felt his head and arose. 'The Prince, where is he?!' he cried.

'Prince Arthas is gone,' said Marwynn 'if he was ever here. What happened?'

'I… I found him,' said Falric 'he was acting irrationally as if he'd lost his mind. I tried to reach him but… but I wasn't able to. That sword did something to him. He knocked me unconscious, I think it wanted me dead.'

'Have you lost your mind as well?!' snapped Marwynn suddenly. 'What possessed you to go into the wastes of Northrend alone?! It's insanity!'

'I… I think something was influencing me.' said Falric 'Some dark force has set it's will against us, manipulated us throughout all this. I think our work has only begun.'

'The hell it has!' snapped Marwynn 'I've sent Kraltos back to Lordaeron, he's going to arrange us transportation off this rock! This… adventure is over! And if Prince Arthas wants to die here, let him!' He halted as he said that, realizing what he had said. 'I… I didn't mean that.'

'I should hope not.' said Falric, glaring.

'Look,' said Marwynn 'I've known Arthas since he was a boy. There was a time when I'd never have questioned my loyalty to him but… he's not the same. We can't afford to keep blindly following him like this. It's going to get a lot of people killed.'

'No, your right.' said Falric bitterly. 'Let's get back to camp, we'll have to organize some kind of formal alliance with the trolls and ogres before we leave. It should help the colony survive once we're gone.'

'So you're just going to stop searching for him?' asked Marwynn.

'I don't think it will do any good.' admitted Falric 'Arthas is… beyond our reach now.'

As they departed that cave and made their way back to camp, Falric reflected that he didn't think they would be returning to Lordaeron anytime soon. The thought seemed almost a certainty of it, and he did not like the idea. He might not have anything left there, but many of his men did. They deserved to return home, and tell their families about their adventures and mourn friends lost.

'You came here alone,' he realized suddenly.

'Hm?' asked Marwynn.

'After that speech about how I shouldn't have gone off on my own, you came after me without a single guard.' said Falric.

'Hey,' said Marwynn 'what are friends for?'

It was an ending of sorts, but also a beginning. In the distance, the sun rose over the blighted land of Northrend and its warmth was greater than it had been in living memory.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

Okay, so this chapter is a day later than I intended to update it. It's strange, this was originally supposed to focus on Arthas' vengeance, but instead, it ended up focusing on Falric coming into his own as the leader of the Alliance Expedition.

Fun fact, the scenes with Malcov and Mustang were never planned. They literally came out of nowhere. I originally wrote them in as perspective characters to observe Mal'ganis' reaction to the approach of Arthas. Then when Falric was exploring Drak'theron Keep, I wanted someone to provide exposition on Mal'ganis' character to give him some personality. Once I'd included Malcov it seemed a waste to just have Falric cut his head off once he'd outlived his usefulness. So he stuck around, and I used him to build up the suspense a bit.

Of course, Mustang had been the perspective character in the first scene with Malcov, so I figured I'd have him survive as well. Naturally, Falric would have no reason for him to be kept alive, so I figured I'd have Mustang use a bit of personal ingenuity to ingratiate himself with the Ice Trolls. To do this, I exploited Zul'amon's distrust of outsiders, and quite justified paranoia regarding the alliance to have him want his people to learn unholy magic.

If I get far enough in the story of WoW for any of this to actually pay off I will be amazed.

This is probably the finale, with the next chapter being the epilogue. However it is possible that things will stretch out to another chapter, so bear with me. Just for the record Arthas men would have eventually won without the trolls and ogres, but with far greater casualties. However, they would have still survived and bolstered the colony to become Valguard and all that.

See you next time.


	13. The Flame that Burns Twice as Bright

**Chapter Thirteen: The Light which Burns Twice as Bright**

Malygos paced back and forth within the heart of his power, awaiting the return of his flight. He did not need to see them flying low between the cliffs to know the result of their mission. It had been a narrow failure, halted only by the intervention of the Frostwyrms. As he paced, the blue dragons landed before them, fewer in number than before.

'Lord Malygos,' said their leader. 'you tasked us with averting the darkness by slaying the Prince of Lordaeron. Yet we have failed.' He bowed his head.

'You slew many Frostwyrms in the attempt to complete your task.' stated Malygos 'That alone is being of some service. Events have now gone beyond our control, and the plan my sisters have vested the fate of this world in will now proceed.

This is something we must accept.

However there are other opportunities to be exploited. The Prince of Lordaeron has left intact an army which had dealt the undead a terrible defeat. They have created allies amongst the ice trolls and ogres, and if properly directed could prove a deadly threat to the scourge of Northrend.

Gather the flight, I have a meeting to attend.'

The meeting was gathered together. Falric and Marwynn stood on one side of the camp, on the other side the ogre and troll chieftains, under Zul'amon. Faldine had been sent by Luc Valonforth to take his place, as Valonforth was currently dealing with a minor incursion by the undead which had slipped past their forces.

'Why do we be calling this meeting, Falric?' asked Zul'amon.

'Prince Arthas gathered us under one banner,' said Falric 'and through his guidance we have gained many great victories against the scourge. It is my desire that we continue to cooperate so that when we are recalled from this land the undead will not retake the land we have fought so hard to seize from them.'

'That be making sense to me.' said Zul'amon 'I and me chieftains be your allies in this fight. Together we be tearing the walking dead to pieces.'

'Pink skins fight well.' said the Ogre Chieftains 'Ogres fight with pink skins to crush weak dead!'

'…If it means keeping the colony safe,' said Faldine 'I'm willing to work with them. Valonforth sent me to agree here. We'll cooperate-'

'And my flights and all their resources are at your disposal.' said another voice from everywhere and nowhere. They looked around for its source. Suddenly there was a flash of lightning and a man stood between them. His hair was white as snow and he had a beard, yet his eyes were ancient.

Around him countless blue dragons flew from nowhere, circling around him in great numbers beyond count. They numbered in the thousands as they landed around them. Falric stared at the man before him, who approached them as they drew closer on instinct.

'I am Malygos!' said the man 'The spellweaver! Lord of the Blue Dragon Flight, Dragon Aspect and Master of all Magic!' He put out one hand, which crackled with lightning that shot down from the stormy skies above to illuminate the whole of the world in its radiance. 'And we have much work to do!'

It was so utterly dramatic that no one even questioned it.

* * *

Within the great hall of the castle of Prince Arthas' base camp, Malygos met with the leaders of the Alliance. Zul'amon was glaring daggers at the dragon the whole time for reasons Marwynn didn't understand. Meanwhile, Faldine was glaring daggers at Zul'amon. Malygos paid no one any real heed, instead, speaking to them in a general sense. He had an aura of power which was almost visible. It seemed to crackle around him and instantly made you want to listen to him.

Marwynn did not like how everyone, himself included, was suddenly treating this man as their undisputed leader. Even Zul'amon seemed to yield authority to him, though he hated every second of it. Just looking at Malygos made you think of him as some high lord who knew far better than you, who you should listen to for your own good.

'You have assembled a powerful alliance by uniting with each other,' said Malygos as he paced before them.'however what you have here will not be enough to defeat the Lich King.'

'The Lich King?' asked Falric.

Malygos' eyes grew cold. 'Mal'ganis' associate, both master and subordinate,' said Malygos 'It is a very complicated matter, suffice to say that the undead scourge was engineered primarily by his will, as was this expedition.'

'Then this whole thing was a trap.' said Falric with a sigh. 'Lady Proudmoore was right.' His tone was bitter.

'Yes, but the trap has been turned upon its own master.' said Malygos with a smile. 'You have done far more damage than he thought you capable of. With the ice trolls as your allies you will be able to do further damage as events progress.

However your resources are limited, are they not?'

'Yes,' said Falric 'even with the forces we have here we will be hard pressed to hold the ground we have taken. And we will be withdrawn to the mainland soon enough, I expect.'

Malygos said nothing for a moment as if mulling over some private matter. 'For now, your priority is to find additional manpower which can be drawn upon to check the scourge's advances. They will attempt to regain lost ground soon enough.'

'And what would ya be suggesting, dragon lord?' asked Zul'amon.

'I will, of course, contribute a number of my dragonspawn to the cause.' said Malygos 'And in times of dire need I will gladly send my children to assist in your wars. Though I will launch no offensives.'

'I be trusting ya as far as I can throw ya!' snapped Zul'amon 'We trolls and ogres don't be forgetting our losses when you attacked us in the highlands!'

'Ogres lose friends!' reinforced the ogre chieftain.

'I was not finished.' said Malygos, ignoring the accusations outright. 'Your priority should be to expand this alliance you have created beyond just the ice trolls and ogres. As it grows, it should prove increasingly simple to gain the other races support.'

'And where do you suggest we start?' asked Fabric, in a somewhat guarded manner.

'The tuskarr,' said Malygos 'you must recruit the tuskarr.'

'The tuskarr be our bitter enemies!' snarled Zul'amon 'They raid us, and we raid them!'

'Yes,' said Malygos 'and once you are no longer killing each other, how many more warriors will be available to fight the scourge? As a matter of pure pragmatism, it is far better to have friends than enemies.'

'What are these tuskarr?' asked Falric.

Malygos smiled at the mention of them. 'A reclusive bunch, though not unpleasant. You might describe them as humanoid walrus people. They do not venture far beyond their own lands, but they do hate ice trolls so it might be a bit complicated getting them to work together. Even so, they are the logical first step in forming your alliance.'

'You can quit talking as though I do not be here!' snapped Zul'amon 'Falric, when our peoples be uniting, it was because it was nothing personal between us. There be a long vendetta between us and the tuskarr. Dat kind of hate just don't go away mon.'

'Perhaps,' said Falric 'but it might at least be set aside until more convenient. Will you at least tell your men to stop their attacks if the tuskarr do?'

'…In the interests of killing the dead, I be considering it.' said Zul'amon after a moment. 'But once the dead no longer be a threat, it be back to square one.'

'That is quite a few years away by even my most optimistic calculations.' reflected Malygos ruefully. 'At any rate, I know of a tuskarr village which is likely enough to consider your case. They have fewer problems with ice trolls than the others and do not launch raids. Their chieftains name is Thrakmul, and he should be reasonable enough. Once they have been brought into the fold, it should be easier to convince the others.

Who will you send?'

'I'll go,' said Marwynn 'I've always been the better speaker Falric.'

'That is a matter of some debate.' said Falric in annoyance. 'However, since I cannot go I will send you in my stead. Is there anything else we need to know?' He turned to Malygos.

'Yes,' said Malygos 'bring fish. Several fish as a matter of fact, and they must be fresh. Tuskarr culture revolves around the bounty of the sea. A visitor without fish is rarely welcome and often turned away. One with your kind of proposal will have to bring a large number of them.'

'Fine,' said Falric 'I'll have a few men go out and catch some-'

'No,' said Malygos 'Marwynn must catch them himself. Him and anyone who goes with them.'

'You've got to be joking.' said Marwynn 'I'm a professional soldier, I command hundreds of men. I've watched men died, and slain entire armies.' The look Malygos gave him in return had him look at the ground, searching for another reason. 'And I've never fished before in my life.'

'Well that will have to change.' said Malygos 'In the eyes of a tuskarr someone who cannot catch fish has something morally wrong with them. When you meet with them they will want to know the story of your catch. If you revealed that you had taken it from another, or worse, lied and had your deception revealed, it could be disastrous.'

'I'll help,' said Faldine suddenly. 'I grew up as a fisherman's daughter, so I know how to do things. Follow my lead, and we'll catch a few of them before the day is out.'

Marwynn sighed. 'This is so fucking stupid.'

'War is about more than simple combat, Marwynn.' said Malygos in some amusement. 'If you cannot command hearts and minds, then no one will ever fight for you. Once you've gathered the fish you need, one of my flight will transport you to the village.'

Malygos had all but taken command. And no one could figure out how.

* * *

Faldine led Marwynn across the ice of a frozen river, both clad in furs over their armor. The women appeared to be in an absurdly good mood and humming to herself. Coming to a part of the ice, she kneeled down and set her ear to it while tapping it. Then rising up, she brought down a pickaxe to drive it into the ice. There was a crack and Marwynn flinched as she broke open the ice a bit.

Then removing the fishing net, she set the bait and dropped the hook into the pool. 'Now you do the same.'

'Fine,' said Marwynn, obeying. He fumbled with the bait twice before he set it on, and he somehow got his fishing pole caught on his leg. At last, he succeeded, as Faldine laughed. 'laugh it up will you.'

'Oh come on,' said Faldine 'it was pretty funny. You need to learn to loosen up. What do you do for fun?'

'I kill things.' said Marwynn simply.

Faldine stared at him, and Marwynn sighed. 'I enjoy killing things, okay. I like fighting wars. I live for it, and so does Falric even though he would never admit it. We grew up together and joined the Lordaeron Military together. Got a posting on Lordaeron Castle after we defended a village from forest trolls.

That's when we met the Prince.'

'Prince Arthas you mean,' said Faldine 'how did you get the positions on his royal guard anyway? I mean usually that kind of rank goes to knights, and a peasant becoming Captain of it is unheard of.'

'Falric and I were freezing on a wall.' said Marwynn 'It was a bitterly cold winter, some years before the fall of Stormwind. We were shivering, and then this golden haired kid we'd never seen before asks us if we were alright.

We told him we were freezing, and he goes off on his own and comes back with hot soup for us from the palace kitchens. We figured he'd swiped it, and we end up talking. He asks us all kinds of questions, just about people. About what it's like growing up, and because he has this sort of aura around him that makes you want to be his friend, we tell him everything we know.

Then Uther flipping Lightbringer, champion of Stormwind comes up and asks why Prince Arthas is out on the wall in the freezing cold.'

'Uther Lightbringer?' asked Faldine 'I thought this was before Stormwind fell.'

'He wasn't a paladin then,' said Marwynn 'but he was still a war hero for humiliating Gilneas. At the time we'd figured he'd become knight champion, though he decided to become a priest instead. Anyway, we were just left standing there speechless, because we'd never thought we were talking to royalty. Arthas has a sort of vibe that makes him everyone's friend.'

'I didn't get that vibe from him.' said Faldine 'I mean, I got the sense that he was good friends with Muradin, that he was a great leader but…'

'He was never the same after Harthglen.' said Marwynn sadly. 'But the change started before that, or so Falric tells me, little hints. Cracks in the mask so to speak as he watched everything go to hell. After Stratholme he just sort of… he became more and more distant, but it wasn't like a friend shutting you out.

It was like a god in human form, ascending gradually until you couldn't follow him. He's a changed man now, wherever he is.'

'I'm sorry,' said Faldine.

There was silence. Then the line began to bob, and Faldine gripped the fishing rod. 'Hang on, I've got one!' She began to reel it in, as whatever was on the other end fought every inch of the way. Finally, it was pulled out and landed on the ice, a massive cold water trout.

Over the next hour, they caught many more of these, until each of them had six fish, hung from a line on their poles. As they were packing up, a massive blue dragon flew out of nowhere and landed with a crash on the ice. Marwynn drew his sword on reflex.

'Peace knight,' snapped the dragon 'I am merely here to transport you to the tuskarr village. If I wished you harm, you would be frozen to death now.'

'And you would have a sword in your eye.' said Marwynn 'Let's go.'

'Good, get on my back.'

The two of them scaled onto the back of the creature and Marwynn hung onto the spines of its neck as it lifted off. Meanwhile, Faldine put her arms beneath Marwynn's shoulders as they took off. Flying through the air they watched the land become distant as they rose far above it. From up here, Northrend was actually beautiful, though its dangers were clear. The air was far thinner as well, and far colder. Marwynn found it unpleasant and wondered what the dwarves who rode gryphons saw in the whole thing.

'So what's your name, Mr Dragon?' asked Faldine curiously.

'Tyrasa, and I am a female.' snapped the dragon. 'Now be silent, I have no desire to engage in conversation with lesser beings.'

Tyrasa flew them through the landscape, her wings beating the frosty air like distant thunder. Finally, she set them down before the village. Marwynn and Faldine got off her back and stepped forward to see the tuskarr village built upon a hill. It was solidly built of stone and wood, with thatched roofs. The buildings were all one story, sprawling rather than rising. Smoke rose from the chimneys of their halls in the icy air speaking of roaring fires and the scent of freshly cooked fish could be smelled.

'That is the village of Thrakmul,' said Tyrasa 'I will await you here, so as not to alarm them. If they decide to cook and eat you, try to hold them off long enough for me to escape.'

'Your concern for our wellbeing remains a heartwarming reminder of your species devotion to guarding this world.' said Marwynn. 'Let's go Faldine. Let me do the talking.'

'Why you?' asked Faldine 'I mean I've been in Northrend longer than you.'

'As Falric's chief lieutenant I frequently was responsible for rallying additional manpower on his behalf.' said Marwynn 'I have a bit of a talent for negotiation and public speaking.'

The two of them scaled up the hill, making no effort to conceal themselves. They were noticed and soon a tuskarr watchman stepped before them and pointed spears at them. There was a tense silence as Marwynn hoped they would hear him out.

'Halt,' said the tuskarr 'what is your business in our domain?'

'We come in peace,' said Marwynn, and motioning their bundles of fish. 'we have brought fish as proof of our good will.'

That seemed to get through to them, and they looked at the fish with interest. Finally, they lowered their spear, and motioned to a smaller tuskarr. 'Go get the chieftain, he will know whether to welcome the outlanders.'

The tuskarr moved off into the house. A few moments later a massive tuskarr, larger than all the others with a great white beard appeared. One of his tusks was broken at the end, and he eyed them. 'I am Thrakmul, grandsire of my family and chieftain of this village. It is our custom to greet visitors who bring fish to our table. However, our scouts have reported that your kind have dealings with the ice trolls. How can we know you are here in good faith?'

'The ice trolls are an ally against a common enemy.' said Marwynn 'My master, Prince Arthas, formed a pact with them that we would fight the undead scourge together. Those who are the enemies of all, have all united against them.'

'Perhaps,' said the Chieftain 'yet the undead have yet to come against us. Why should we aid you against them? Or have I guessed your mind wrong?'

'You have guessed my purpose,' admitted Marwynn 'however consider this: Your people have thus far been left alone by the undead because they have gone thus far unnoticed. For now, you are safe. Yet when the ice trolls are no more, when the blue dragons and the dragonspawn have been undone, and my people driven off these shores and all that surround you consumed by the darkness, you will be but a tiny island upon the shores of Northrend. And there will be nothing to distract the gaze of the Lich King from you.'

At the mention of the Lich King the tuskarr bristled, looking around fearfully. 'You should not speak of him.' hissed Thrakmul 'It will bring disaster on us all.'

'Do you think the undead will then spare you as they have thus far if they win?' countered Marwynn 'If you join us in our war, we may in time defeat the undead, and your people may return to their own concerns. Yet if we fail, all will be lost.'

'What do you ask of us?' asked the Chieftain 'That we send our warriors to die in ranks for your sake and the sake of trolls?'

'No,' said Marwynn 'our only desire is to ensure that the living are at peace, while the dead still walk this land.' Best to start small, and reel them in later.

'…You come to brook a truce between our kind and the ice trolls.' realized Thrakmul.

'And all your other enemies, if it can be managed.' said Marwynn with a shrug.

There was a long pause. 'We will take the fish.' said Thrakmul after a moment. 'And think upon your words. Where would you have us meet you?'

'In the place known as Valgarde Keep,' said Marwynn 'if you travel along the shore to the east far enough you will find it. It is there that I have made my fortress.'

'Then we shall go there in time.' said the Chieftain 'For now allow me to welcome you as though you were a long lost cousin. Come in, and we will share food and drink with you as though you were our own, and you shall recount the tale of how you caught these fish.'

They were given tuskarr hospitality, and together they ate of roasted fish hungrily. It was a pleasant enough meal, and during it Faldine explained how it was that they caught the fish. The revelation that a blue dragon had ferried them garnered some interest from the tuskarr. 'We have seen such creatures before,' said Thrakmul 'yet to make an alliance with them your kind must be mighty indeed.'

'Not so mighty that we don't need all the help we can get.' reflected Marwynn.

They drank of a mead of tuskarr make which was very strong. Marwynn and Faldine could only drink a very little of it without going lightheaded. Eventually they departed on amicable terms and made their way back down the hill. By now it was getting dark outside as the sun fell into the horizon.

'Why didn't you ask them about the alliance?' asked Faldine. 'That was why we were here, wasn't it?'

'These people hate ice trolls, and ice trolls hate them.' said Marwynn 'Imagine if someone wanted us to ally with the orcs? We'd have to have it broken to us gently, and we'd have to have a very good reason. The undead provide plenty of reason, but they don't trust the ice trolls.'

'With good reason.' said Faldine, voice going cold. 'I've had to fight off some of their raids.'

'Right,' said Marwynn 'so the first step is to get them to stop fighting each other. That alone will free up a lot of forces which are tied up defending against tuskarr raids, and raiding them in turn. Once we've done that, we can ease them into cooperation.'

'Why was Falric chosen over you as the head of Arthas' royal guard?' asked Faldine. 'You seem a lot more competent.'

'Because you don't know what you are talking about, I'll forgive those words.' said Marwynn coldly. 'Falric was a far better choice. If Arthas asked me to do something I really didn't want to do, I might hesitate. Falric, however, would do it without question. He's better at commanding respect from the men anyway.'

They approached Tyrasa, who roused herself from sleeping on the cold ice. 'Finally,' she snapped 'I expected I'd have to wait here all year. Were you successful?'

'The tuskarr have agreed to meet us in Valgarde Keep.' said Marwynn 'I didn't press for anything more. Take me to Zul'amon, I'll organize things from his side.'

'Oh, of course, I'm at your disposal.' snapped Tyrasa with a degree of sarcasm.

Mounting the dragon, the three of them rode away as the setting sun bathed all the world in waning light.

* * *

Arthas Menethil had wandered the wastes of Northrend and as he did so he saw visions of the endless armies of undead throughout Northrend. Those he had killed here had been but a fraction of their numbers, and in a few years, they would have all been replaced. As the light waned over the last day of his wanderings, so too did the light wane in his soul. He could feel it dimming little by little as he came out into a shoreline where he found a ship waiting for him.

A Lich was waiting there and bowed as he approached. 'Greetings to you, Prince Arthas, I was told to await your coming.'

'You are taking it very well that I have killed your master.' noted Arthas.

'Mal'ganis was a corrupting influence upon the scourge.' stated the Lich 'He and those that served him needed to be purged from our ranks. You have already done us a great service.'

'This was his plan all along.' realized Arthas, and he realized he could feel nothing regarding the revelation. He was simply empty inside.

'All that occurs has done so by the will of our master.' said the Lich 'Your ship awaits.' He motioned to the vessel, and Arthas made his way forward. He felt utterly empty, devoid of any desire save to obey the whispers of Frostmourne.

He obeyed, and the ship soon turned and set forth for Lordaeron. Arthas did not sleep that night, he had not slept once in all his wanderings. Perhaps he did not need to anymore. In his heart, the light which had once burned like a raging inferno went out like a brief candle. The wrath of the light had been spent. Now all that remained was ashes and darkness.

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

Okay, so I got another chapter done and I honestly didn't see the tuskarr subplot coming. I was literally just playing a custom campaign, and one of the missions involved recruitable tuskarr. So I did some reading on them and thought: 'Hey, these guys would probably get along great with the Alliance races.'

Malygos was originally just going to appear right out of nowhere and make his proclamation and that would be the end of the chapter. However, I guess I figured I'd have him have an onscreen success which will set the tone for further adventures in Northend.

By the way just so you know, I'm going to do an overhaul of Mercy of the Damned once I finish up with Wrath of the Light. So much has changed since I first wrote Mercy of the Damned that I'm pretty sure there will be some continuity errors.

Anyway, I had a lot of fun with this chapter. It was sort of a breather episode, but it actually does have important ramifications for future events.


	14. Arthas' Betrayal

**Epilogue: Arthas' Betrayal**

The ringing of bells could be heard throughout the lands surrounding Lordaeron city for miles. The triumphant songs of choirs echoed through the streets of Lordaeron as great cheer and goodwill poured forth. Bread and circuses had been abound in the days since news of Arthas' great victory came forth. Dancers and fire tasters and acrobats and jugglers plied their trade for the entertainment of the masses throughout many villages as feasts were set out to celebrate. Victory belonged to Lordaeron! Once more the forces of darkness had been soundly defeated!

Lordaeron was supreme. Alone and unaided by its ungrateful allies, Lordaeron had held its ground, driven back the undead and crushed them under the leadership of their Prince!

Yet there was something not altogether right. Prince Arthas had returned home alone, ahead of his soldiers. It was a decision which did not seem to fit him. His armor was different as well, ornate where before it had been simple inlaid with skulls. His cloak was a black as night, where before it had been blue, and it covered his face. Neither Falric, nor Marwynn his two greatest and most loyal Lieutenants accompanied him as he journeyed through the lands towards the city to claim his just reward.

Yet it seemed that a mania had overtaken the crowds who lined the streets in great throngs just to watch him pass. It didn't matter that there was no army with him. It didn't matter that he scarcely paid them any heed as he walked forward without a word or a sideways glance to them. He was their victorious Prince and they were welcoming him home!

* * *

Arthas walked through the streets of the city scarcely noticing the people around him. The drawbridge to Lordaeron Palace was let down with a loud crash and bridged his way into his home. The place he had spent his early years in, before war after war had seen him dragged away from it. From one place to another, far from home, far from his Father. In those days the King of Lordaeron had spent more time in the company of Daval Prestor than his own children.

He walked along a street and as he did so rose petals were cast down upon him by many noble crowds far above. For a moment he halted and reached out with one hand to catch a rose petal in his palm. Even as it rested there, the edges of it became blighted. Crushing it between his thumb and his forefinger, he cast it down and glanced up for the first time at the adoring crowds. There was Rebra, a servant who had worked in Lordaeron Palace her whole life. And further on was Count Ordinmar, observing from a higher seat. He knew their faces and names like the back of his hand, he knew all their faces and names. It was a talent he had always possessed, to know the nature of those around him.

No longer was he the son of benevolent King Terenas. No longer was he the protege of Uther Lightbringer, doomed to be a passable successor to an impossible idol. He had his own legend now, his own legacy to pass along. If he died this very moment, he would be known for his great deeds throughout history. And he felt nothing for it.

Turning his gaze forward again he walked away.

Arthas made his way through the rest of the palace, heedless of the dignitaries and sycophants who lined every corridor. At last, he reached the throne room. Casting the doors open, he let some measure of his anger show at last. The anger he had not been aware he'd felt until now, in this single moment. The doors were flung open and crashed against the side of the wall as he strode forward past the guards into the throne room.

The colors here were more subdued. A thin beam of light show down through the windows to illuminate the throne room. The curtains looked more red than they ever had, the ornate floor more decadent than ever before. At the far end of the room, at the top of a flight of steps was his Father awaiting him, looking very proud of him.

Pride. Everything Arthas had done had been to make his Father proud of him. Everything else had been secondary. He had fought a thousand hopeless battles that King Terenas might look upon his true heir and son with even a fraction of the affection he had bestowed upon King Varian Wrynn, one he had known as a brother. A distant brother, one who always seemed considered better at everything, the superior with the sword. A young prodigy who had arisen to lead his people in their time of need, while Arthas was still getting bruises learning how to hold a sword. Not that his Father had done much to help him with that.

It was only then that Arthas realized how little he knew himself. In his heart of hearts, Arthas realized he had been jealous of Varian. Ever since that scar faced boy had entered the court, he had practically been adopted as a second son. And it soon became apparent that he was a favored son, for King Llane had taught his child far more than King Terenas had taught his. And those skills had conspired to see Arthas fade to the background, while Varian was hailed as a great king before he had even really made any decisions.

None of that mattered now. At long last, he was foremost in his Fathers thoughts. No longer could King Terenas focus his adoration upon the Prince of Stormwind, or worse that imbecile Daval Prestor whose every suggestion led the Alliance from bad to worse. And he'd nearly been made King of Alterac! Arthas had never seen less of his Father than in those days when Prestor was at court. And his sister had nearly been married off.

Now he knew why he was angry. This was all his Fathers fault. The orcs ravaged the world because King Terenas refused to do the intelligent thing and execute the beasts. The Alliance fell apart because King Terenas in his usual method of idiotic benevolence didn't give anyone any incentive to remain part of it. The plague had spread because he refused to quarantine the northlands. And throughout it all, it had been Arthas' task to clean up his mess.

Arthas strode forward into the light shining down from above so that he was bathed in it, and as his Father arose he drew Frostmourne. He did not do as he had been told to do right away. Instead, he fell to one knee and set the blade into the ground before him, and lowered his head. All his life he had waited for this moment, this moment of glory. And it was such a waste.

'Ah, my son,' said King Terenas, voice bubbling with benevolent affection. 'I knew you would be-'

'You no longer need to sacrifice for your people,' said Arthas, words laced with a tranquil fury. 'you no longer need to bear the weight of your crown. I've taken care… of everything.' The words echoed those said months ago, in far different circumstances. Here at the end of the Alliance, at the end of everything he had known, Arthas looked up, and arose, drawing off his hood. For a moment he paused, but only briefly. Then he surged forward up the steps as the guards looked on in surprise. Arthas forced his Father back down onto the throne and drew back his sword. Frostmourne gleamed in merciless joy.

'What is this?!' said King Terenas in shock. 'What are you doing my son?!'

 _'King Terenas, ever benevolent, ever-merciful. Ever foolish. He is as much the Scourge of Lordaeron as Mal'ganis ever was.'_ said a voice in his mind.

'Succeeding you,' said Arthas in seething hate. 'father!'

Frostmourne slid through King Terenas' throat with a grace and terrible beauty which reminded Arthas why he had chosen it as his weapon. And as his Fathers death gasp resounded throughout the throne room, and he set one foot on the Kings chest and drew the blade out, he began to realize why Frostmourne had chosen him.

The crown rolled down the steps, clattering to the ground as the guards stood transfixed in horror. A dark joy now bubbled up with Arthas as he raised his sword to the invisible sky and proclaimed the coming of a new age. 'This Kingdom shall fall!' he cried out 'And from the ashes shall arise a new order, that will shake the very foundations of the world!'

His voice carried throughout the length and breadth of the city, as suddenly people who had only too recently feasted on bread fell to the ground screaming in pain as a transformation overtook them. The guards converged on him, but Arthas scarcely noticed as he slew them all. He could see it happening, as though before his very eyes. He could see the newly created undead swarming throughout the streets, tearing the once joyous spectators apart as they tried to flee. There was no real resistance, most of the soldiers of Lordaeron had been sent to Strahnbrad and other fronts to compensate for their King's idiocy.

And as they died, necromancers who had been in hiding amongst the populace began to reanimate the dead into a new and twisted form of life. These were used to sweep away what little defense could be gathered. The city gates were jammed with the desperate citizens trying to escape from the monstrous creatures following them. The militias in the surrounding villages began to realize that something was wrong, but it was too late!

Too late! The Alliance had been too late to save Strahnbrad! Too late to save the Blackrock Clans captives! Too late to stop the plagued grain shipments from being sent out, and too late to prevent them from reaching Stratholme! And Arthas didn't care anymore!

He felt relief and joy all at once as those he had sworn to protect were slaughtered. Perhaps this had been what he had longed for ever since the day he had become a Paladin. The complete annihilation of the mask of benevolence which had been forced upon him.

Arthas had not had any part to play in planning the events that transpired. He had not been trusted with that knowledge, not yet. However, that did not mean that for a few twisted hours he could not enjoy the spectacle.

Then he felt nothing.

Too late.

* * *

It was perhaps an hour since Arthas had been sighted making his way to Lordaeron City. A vast party was currently being thrown, and Calia was present. Lords and Ladies of all the highest ranks networked and spoke with one another, pausing occasionally to speak of the valor of the armies of Lordaeron. Courtiers curried favors with their betters, while knights wooed ladies of noble standing. The main festivities, of course, were being reserved for after the Prince arrived.

Calia, for her part, remained aloof from the festivities, speaking occasionally when it was necessary and representing her Father in his absence. She had wanted to be there when Arthas arrived, they had been very distant of late. However, King Terenas had insisted that he speak with her brother alone. So it was that Calia spent her time making idle conversation with nobles instead. She was clad in high heels and a yellow dress that revealed her curves, and her blonde hair was tied up in a bun around her head.

'You know it's rather odd,' said the Lady Margaret, a middle aged women in a blue dress. 'Prince Arthas returning alone without his forces.'

'Well he left Falric behind,' said Calia 'and Marwynn, so he probably wants to keep some standing forces in Northrend. Maybe he has them hunting down the remnants of Mal'ganis' broods.' It suddenly occurred to her that this was totally out of character for Arthas. He, Falric, and Marwynn were inseparable, and tales of their various adventures had filled the land. Falric had become the symbol of the loyal soldier, serving his King without question, while Marwynn had a reputation as one of the most dashing men of common blood in history.

It was rather ironic since Calia was almost certain that Falric had had a hand in burning the ships. That kind of conspiracy required more than a few people, and who would Arthas trust save the most loyal of his knights.

'That does seem a practical thought.' Margaret said, taking a bite out of an entree. 'The army has been filled with practical thoughts of late, or so my husband tells me.'

'What kind?' asked Calia.

'Well some want us to start digging up graveyards to burn the dead.' said Margaret 'The graves of commoners I could understand, we need to keep the undead from using them. But nobles? That seems uncouth.'

Only the Lady Margaret could think this kind of subject was appropriate discussion for a dinner party. She was perhaps the most morbid person Calia knew. 'Well we don't have to take every pragmatic suggestion which a grizzled soldier suggests.' said Calia with a slight smile. 'After all the war is over. Or so you would think from the way people are talking.'

'It does seem to be winding down, now that you think about it.' noted Margaret 'So much the better, I've always thought war a rather uncouth and unnecessary thing. It is expensive and gets in the way of true progress. All those knights in shining armor thwacking each other with swords makes for a very good story, but it rarely does anyone much good.'

At that moment a footman entered and a whistle was called as attention was drawn to him. He bowed courteously. 'My Lords and Ladies, I have just received word that Prince Arthas is now meeting with his Father. No doubt they will join us shortly.'

Murmurs of approval went throughout the guests. Calia, for her part, remained silent.

'Calia, you haven't eaten at all.' said Margaret 'Perhaps you should to keep your strength up?'

'No,' said Calia 'I have... I have a very bad feeling about what is happening here. Something is wrong.'

'Well that seems just a touch paranoid my-'

 ** _'THIS KINGDOM SHALL FALL, AND FROM THE ASHES SHALL ARISE A NEW ORDER THAT WILL SHAKE THE VERY FOUNDATIONS OF THE WORLD!'_** It was her brothers voice, filling their minds, cold and heartless and nothing like him. Yet still him. There was dead silence, as an aura of dread fell over everyone.

The Lady Margaret suddenly keeled over, falling to her knees and coughing. The Princess of Lordaeron fell by the middle aged women side, and gripped her shoulder. 'Are you alright?' asked Calia in concern. 'I'll call a priest just...'

Then she saw that all around her the people were moaning and falling upon the ground. Calia took a step backward in fear as Margaret arose from where she had been standing, now drooling with her eyes vacant and her hands looking very clawlike. All around her people arose, as the stench of death suddenly filled the room. Calia ran, even as the other guests who had not been effected were fallen upon by the dignitaries. Screams came behind her as Calia rushed through the door, pursued by the maddened guests and slammed it shut behind her.

Other screams came down the corridor, and she saw a servant girls chased by shambling soldiers clad in armor. 'Run milady!' cried the girl. 'The undead are attacking Lordaeron!' Then she was cut down where she stood.

Calia obeyed. She knew exactly where she was going and she ran for it. She wasn't like Arthas, she didn't stop to help others, or look to save anyone. She ran straight for the secret escape tunnel her Father had shown her many times when she was younger, shown to Arthas many times. At several points, she saw footmen struggling to hold back the ravening undead monsters, and she fled all the faster without a second glance. By some miracle, she made her way through the palace without encountering any undead.

Reaching the secret passage she pushed in a stone with her hand. There was a groaning noise as the wall slide aside to reveal a damp and dark passage lit only by a number of ever burning candles. Stepping through, Calia glanced to the mechanism to close it. She could go back now and try to save some survivors, it is what Arthas would do. But then Arthas was an experienced veteran clad in armor with a sword that could slice clean through armor. It might have been the right thing to do, but Calia doubted it was the smart thing.

Even so, she hesitated to close the door behind her. Somebody might find this place, and escape to safety if she left it open. Yet... that someone might be the undead. She was a Princess! She was more important than commoners! Her life had to be preserved, even at the expense of others!

Calia pulled the handle and watched as the door ground shut. A long scream echoed through the stonework and she flinched. No one else would escape this way, except perhaps her father or brother. Ungodly moaning began to come through the walls, and she fled. She made her way down the passage as quickly as she could. A part of her mind said she was playing the part of a coward very well, not even trying to save anyone. However, Calia ignored that part of herself. She was no hero, she was just the Princess of Lordaeron, meant to be married off to secure a political alliance. Nobody could seriously expect her to lead the defense could she. No... no this was something for her brother to handle, he was the one with the most experience.

That was why she pressed on down the passage without looking back and finally emerged into the wild world.

Looking up she saw the walls of Lordaeron City, and behind them, flames were rising. Screams could still be heard everywhere, and Calia became very afraid. She had to get out of here, escape the range of these walls. She she ran, until her high heels snapped and she was forced to throw them off and continue on foot. Suddenly she realized that the plague had spread to Lordaeron City.

But how? Her Father had quarantined all grain shipments.

The refreshments. The bread and circuses had been infected with the same plague as the grain stores.

Calia made her way through the mud, until she came to a village. There she found it under attack by the undead, the militia rallying to defend their homes. As they finished off the assault, she stumbled into plain view. The soldiers looked up and readied their swords. 'Who goes there?!'

Calia had no idea who she could trust. If she revealed that she was the Princess, then people might expect her to lead them. And the cultists would target her. She knew that it was her duty to provide leadership in this dark time. Yet she was afraid. She was very afraid, and because of that she did the most selfish thing she'd ever done in her life. 'I... I'm a nobleman's daughter, I just escaped from Lordaeron City. Its in flames, please, I... I need your help.'

They helped her, of course. The people of Lordaeron were goodhearted, even if the neighboring realms were a collection of ungrateful bastards. They sheltered her, gave her shoes and provided her protection, even as news of the gathering undead came in. This village might soon come under attack. Calia could think of nothing she could do to help these people, even if she revealed who she was.

Calia had no practical leadership skills. She'd reveal herself to Lord Uther if she got the chance, he could be trusted. Until they she would be best off pretending to be nobody important. What harm could her absence do?

* * *

 **Authors Note:**

Okay, guys I'll level with you. I was originally planning to have this big, elaborate chapter which dealt with everyone's reaction to the approach of their conquering hero and all that. I was even going to have a big scene which explains how Calia Menethil escaped from Lordaeron City, and survived. I was going to do all kinds of things.

However, I basically realized I was sick and tired of writing prequels and wanted to finish the story up. So I stuck to the cards on this one, albeit with some speculation as to Arthas' motives.

If you think about it, King Terenas is almost the main villain of the Scourge of Lordaeron. Virtually every problem Arthas' faces is an indirect result of King Terenas' mistakes. Sparing the orcs led to the slaughter at Strahnbrad. Not quarantining the northlands results in half the problems in the campaign and countless deaths. Even the Cult of the Damned is a result of King Terenas not being able to rein in the tyranny of his lesser lords.

It goes a long way to explain why Arthas would have such hatred in his voice when he runs through his Father.

As for Arthas being jealous of Varian, that is admittedly pure speculation on my part. However, you have to keep in mind that Varian and Arthas are the same age. But while Varian is being praised and regarded highly by all the Kings, Arthas is only just then learning to fight. Jealousy seems a perfectly rational response.

If the mood strikes me, I may update this and make it longer at some point. Maybe, but not for sure by any means.

 **EDIT:**

Added a scene featuring Calia which showed her escape from Lordaeron City, and explained why she never came forward to lead any of the refugees.

The fact the Calia was afraid and selfishly choose not to lead the people of Lordaeron is more or less canon if she is still alive. Her presence as a figurehead could have averted the entire Garithos crisis. Given that she struck me as a fairly non martial person, I decided to have her refuse to help out of sheer terror, and hope that someone would magically fix everything for her.


End file.
